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Victor 


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DUKE  UNIVERSITY 


LIBRARY 


The  Glenn  Negley  Collection 
of  Utopian  Literature 


r\cvv4>  o-A^A  crvA  (A  4aa-ma 


THE  MESSIAH  OF  THE  CYLINDER 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2010  with  funding  from 
Duke  University  Libraries 


http://www.archive.org/details/messiahofcylindOOeman 


MMI'lii'!rlli'ilhiil!!'''i!r 


I  put  my  feet  inside  and  squeezed  down  to  the  bottom 

[Page  28] 


....•*V.:«»vV*«iJ.*.v->i-«rc-^ 


..  Victor  Rousse?iu 


I     Illustrated  by 
Joseph  Clement  Coll 


J 

..^^^^•■■•    .^  ■;':•.' ^i 
.••.'yii* 


CHICAGO 

A.C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 

1917 


Copyright 

A.  C  McClurg  &  Co. 

1917 


Published  October,  1917 


Copyrighted  in  Great  Britain 


All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of 

translation  into  foreign  languages^ 

including  the    Scandina-vian. 


W.   F.  HAUL  PRINTING  COMPANY,  CHICAQO 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I     Over  the  Coffee  Cups i 

II     The  Great  Experiment i6 

III  In  the  Cellar 30 

IV  The  Road  to  London 41 

V     London's  Welcome 53 

VI     The  Strangers'  House 66 

VII     Hidden  Things 79 

VIII  How  the  World  Was  Made  Over  .      .  89 

IX     The  Book 102 

X     The  Domed  Building 108 

XI  The  Goddess  of  the  Temple      .      .      .  122 

XII     The  Lords  of  Misrule 137 

XIII  The  Palace  of  Palms 151 

XIV  The  House  on  the  Wall 164 

XV  The  Airscouts'  Fortress      ....  174 

XVI  The  Messiah's  Annunciation     .      .      .  186 

XVII  The  Chapel  Underground   ....  198 

XVIII     Sanson 214 

XIX  The  Story  of  the  Cylinders     .      .      .  225 

XX     The  Sweep  of  the  Net 237 

XXI     Amaranth 247 


Contents 


CHAPTER 

XXII  Esther 

XXIII  The  Heart  of  the  People 

XXIV  Lembken       .... 
XXV  The  Coming  of  the  Cross 

XXVI  The  Admiral  of  the  Air 

XXVII  The  New  Order     .      . 


PAGE 
261 
271 
280 
292 
302 
312 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

I  put  my  feet  inside  and  squeezed  down  to  the 

bottom Frontispiece 

I  made  my  difficult  way  toward  the  stairs     ...       34 

I  glanced  from  one  to  another,  and  met  hard, 
mirthless  eyes,  and  mouths  twisted  in  sneer- 
ing mockery 50 

"Woe  to  you,  accursed  city!"  he  screamed, 
"Woe  to  you  in  the  day  of  judgment !  Woe 
to  your  whites  and  harlots  when  the  judgment 
comes!" 150 

It   pulled   me   through   the   window-gap   and    I 

swung  far  out  above  the  Airscouts'  Fortress     172 

A  man  near  me  leaped  up  and  craned  his  neck, 

looking  into  the  gloom 242 

A  tall  man  with  a  black  beard  and  a  curved 
sword  sheath  that  clanked  on  the  stones.  I 
recognized  in  him  Mehemet,  the  Turkish 
commander 244 

Sanson's  indomitable  will  flamed  out.  "I  will 
not  drink !"  he  cried,  and  flung  the  cup  to 
the  floor 258 

The  giant  leaped  out  before  his  followers.  "Where 
is  Lembken?"  he  roared.  "Where  are  the 
men?" 286 


Illustrations 


PAGE 

Upon  the  walls  the  Guard  were  swarming  toward 
the  defenders.  Out  of  their  midst  the  Ray 
artillery  belched 300 

The  giant  jaws  upon  our  aircraft  gaped.    I  saw 

steel  teeth  within  them 308 


THE  MESSIAH  OF  THE  CYLINDER 


The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

CHAPTER  I 

OVER  THE   COFFEE   CUPS 

T  F  I  recall  the  conversation  of  that  evening  so 
minutely  as  to  appear  tedious,  I  must  plead  that 
this  was  the  last  occasion  on  which  I  saw  Sir  Spof- 
forth  alive.  In  such  a  case,  one  naturally  remembers 
incidents  and  recalls  words  that  otherwise  might  have 
been  forgotten;  besides,  here  were  the  two  opposed 
opinions  of  life,  as  old  as  Christianity,  confronting 
each  other  starkly.  And,  as  will  be  seen,  the  test 
was  to  come  in  such  manner  as  only  one  of  us  could 
have  imagined. 

I  picture  old  Sir  Spofforth  as  on  that  evening: 
courteous,  restrained,  yet  with  the  heat  of  convic- 
tion burning  in  his  measured  phrases;  and  Esther 
listening  with  quaint  seriousness,  turning  from  her 
father  to  Lazaroff  and  back,  and  sometimes  to  me, 
as  each  of  us  spoke.  Outside,  in  the  moonlight, 
the  shadow  of  the  Institute  lay  black  across  the  gar- 
den of  Sir  Spofforth's  house.  The  dining-room  was 
fragrant  with  the  scent  of  the  tea-roses  that  grew 
beneath  the  windows. 

1 


2  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

The  Biological  Institute  was  less  than  five  years 
old,  but  the  London  smoke,  which  drifted  beyond 
Croydon,  already  had  darkened  the  bright-red 
bricks  to  a  tolerable  terra  cotta.  The  ivy  had  grown 
a  good  way  up  the  walls.  The  Institute  was  accom- 
modating itself  to  the  landscape,  as  English  build- 
ings had  the  knack  of  doing.  Lazaroff  and  I  had 
been  there  under  Sir  Spofforth  since  the  founda- 
tion, and  there  never  had  been  any  others  upon  the 
staff,  the  Institute  being  organized  for  specialized 
work  of  narrow  scope,  though  of  immense  per- 
spective. 

It  was  devoted  to  private  research  into  the  nature 
of  life,  in  the  application  of  the  Mendelian  law  to 
vertebrates.  The  millionaire  who  had  endowed  it 
for  this  purpose  and  then  died  opportunely,  had  not 
had  time  to  hamper  us  with  restrictions.  Next  to 
endowing  us,  his  death  was,  perhaps,  the  most  imag- 
inative thing  that  he  had  ever  accomplished.  The 
Government  concerned  itself  only  about  our  vivi- 
section certificates.  But  our  animal  experimentation 
was  too  innocuous  for  these  to  be  much  more  than 
a  safeguard.  Carrel's  investigations  in  New  York, 
a  year  or  two  before,  had  shown  the  world  that  cell 
and  tissue  can  not  only  survive  the  extinction  of  the 
general  vital  quantity,  but,  under  proper  conditions, 
proliferate  indefinitely.  We  were  investigating  tis- 
sue life,  and  our  proceedings  were  quite  innocuous. 


Over  the  Coffee  Cups 


It  will  be  seen  that  we  already  had  gotten  away  from 
Mendel,  though  we  did  breed  Belgian  hares,  whose 
disappearance  always  caused  Esther  distress,  and 
we  made  fanciful  annotations  inside  ruled  margins 
about  "agoutis"  and  ''allelomorphs." 

I  am  conscious  now  that  we  worked  constantly 
under  a  sense  of  constraint;  there  was  an  unneces- 
sary secrecy  in  all  our  plans  and  actions.  Why  ?  I 
think,  when  I  look  back,  that  it  was  not  because  of 
what  we  were  doing,  but  rather  of  what  it  might 
become  necessary  some  day  to  do.  The  work  was  so 
near  to  sacrilege  —  I  mean,  we  viewed  the  animal 
structure  as  a  mechanism  rather  than  as  a  temple. 
That,  of  course,  was  then  the  way  of  all  biologists; 
but  that,  I  think,  was  the  cause  of  our  rather  furtive 
methods.  We  were  hot  on  the  trail  of  the  mystery 
of  life,  and  never  knew  upon  what  intimacies  we 
might  stumble.  We  sought  to  discover  how  and 
where  consciousness  is  born  out  of  unconscious  tis- 
sue vitality.  Lazaroff  had  the  intuition  of  genius, 
and  his  inductions  were  amazing.  Still,  that  problem 
baffled  him. 

'Tennell,"  I  hear  him  say,  ''at  a  certain  period  of 
growth,  when  millions  of  cells,  working  coopera- 
tively, have  grouped  themselves  in  certain  patterns, 
completing  the  design,  consciousness  comes  into  play. 
Why?  Is  it  a  by-product,  the  creak  that  accompa- 
nies the  wheel?     But  Nature  produces  nothing  in 


4  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

vain.  Then  why  should  we  know  that  we  exist? 
Why?" 

Lazaroff  was  a  Prussian  Pole,  I  believe,  though 
he  spoke  half  a  dozen  languages  fluently.  Keen  and 
fanatical,  daring,  inflexible,  he  seemed  to  me  the 
sort  of  man  who  would  welcome  the  chance  to  pro- 
claim a  Holy  War  for  Science  and  die  in  the  front 
rank.  He  had  the  strange  old  German  faith  that  was 
called  monism,  and  his  hope  for  the  human  race  was 
as  strong  as  his  contempt  for  the  man  of  our  day. 

*'The  race  is  all,  Pennell,"  I  hear  him  say  again. 
**We  of  this  age,  who  pride  ourselves  on  our  accom- 
plishments, are  only  emerging  from  the  dawn  of 
civilization.  We  are  still  encumbered  with  all  the 
ghostly  fears  that  obsessed  our  ancestors  of  the 
Stone  Age.  But  others  will  build  the  Temple  of 
Truth  upon  the  foundations  that  we  are  rearing. 
Oh,  if  I  could  have  been  born  a  hundred  years 
ahead!    For  the  change  is  coming  fast,  Pennell!" 

And,  when  I  professed  to  doubt  the  nearness  of 
that  change:  *Tf  your  frontal  area  varied  by  only 
five  centimeters,  Pennell,  you  would  believe.  That 
is  your  tragedy,  to  fall  short  of  the  human  norm 
by  five  centimeters  of  missing  forehead." 

I  can  see  his  well-proportioned  figure,  and  the 
mane  of  black  hair  thrown  back;  the  flashing  eyes. 
Animated  by  religious  impulse,  Lazaroff  would  have 
gone  to  the  stake  as  unconcernedly  as  he  would  cer- 


Over  the  Coffee  Cups 


tainly  have  burned  others.  He  had  invented  a  sys- 
tem of  craniometry  by  which  he  professed  to  dis- 
cover the  mentality  of  his  subject,  and  I  was  his 
first. 

Certainly  the  conditions  were  ideal  for  aur  work. 
We  were  both  young  men,  enthusiasts ;  and  Sir  Spof- 
forth  Moore,  our  chief,  was  nearing  eighty.  The 
Trustees  had  picked  him  for  the  post  because  of  his 
great  name  in  the  medical  world.  He  was  an  ideal 
chief.  He  interfered  with  us  no  more  than  the 
Trustees  did.  He  asked  for  no  results.  The  Insti- 
tute existed  only  for  patient  research.  Yes,  the 
millionaire  had  certainly  displayed  imagination  for 
a  millionaire,  and  it  was  fortunate  that  he  died  be- 
fore his  hobby,  whose  inception  came  to  him,  I 
believe,  from  reading  sensational  newspaper  articles, 
grew  into  an  obsession. 

The  Trustees  refused  to  accept  Sir  Spofforth's 
resignation  when  he  became  infirm.  He  lent  the 
Institute  dignity  and  prestige.  I  doubt  whether  he 
knew  much  of  Mendelism,  or  had  followed  the  work 
of  the  past  five  years.  He  knew  little  of  what  we 
were  doing,  and  initialed  our  vouchers  without  ever 
demurring.  Of  course  he  tried  to  keep  in  touch  with 
us,  and  I  will  confess  that  our  routine  work  was 
mainly  a  cover  for  the  daring  plan  that  Lazaroff 
had,  bit  by  bit,  outlined  to  me. 

"You  see,  Pennell,"  he  explained  in  self-justifica- 


6  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

tion,  ''the  work  must  be  done.  And  where  are 
there  such  opportunities  as  here?  Science  cannot 
be  bound  by  the  provisions  of  a  dead  man's  deed. 
It  is  not  likely  that  Sir  Spofforth  would  object, 
either,  but  the  Trustees  might  have  intelligence 
enough  to  pick  up  the  idea  from  the  quarterly  re- 
ports if  we  were  entirely  frank,  and  a  biologist  with 
imagination  is  called  a  charlatan.  And  we  must 
work  quickly,  while  we  have  this  chance.  When 
Sir  Spofforth  dies  the  Trustees  will  probably  pick 
some  fussy  little  busybody  who  will  want  to  poke 
his  nose  into  everything  and  take  personal  charge. 
Then — what  of  our  experiment?" 

The  idea  aroused  me  to  as  much  enthusiasm  as 
Lazaroff.  And  yet  there  was  disappointment  in  the 
knowledge  that  we  should  never  know  the  results 
of  it. 

In  brief,  Lazaroff's  scheme  was  this :  If  animal 
tissues,  removed  from  the  entire  organism,  can 
exist  in  a  condition  of  suspended  vitality  for  an  in- 
definite time,  at  a  temperature  suited  to  them  in  con- 
ditions which  forbid  germ  life  to  flourish,  why  not 
the  living  animal?  Lazaroff  had  selected  three 
monkeys  from  among  our  stock  for  the  experiment. 
They  were  to  be  sealed  each  In  a  vacuum  cylinder 
of  special  design,  and  left  for  a  century. 

'The  more  I  think  about  the  plan,  the  more  en- 
thusiastic I  become,  Pennell,"  Lazaroff  cried.     "If 


Over  the  Coffee  Cups 


the  unconscious  cell  life  survives  indefinitely,  why 
not  the  entire  organism  plus  consciousness  ?" 

''Much  may  happen  in  a  hundred  years,  Lazaroff," 
I  answered. 

"True,  Pennell.  But  they  will  never  find  the 
vault.  Even  now,  before  it  is  sealed,  it  would  not  be 
looked  for,  built  as  it  is  into  the  cellar  wall  beneath 
the  freezing-plant.  It  was  to  this  end,  you  know, 
that  I  brought  down  workmen  from  London,  in- 
stead of  employing  local  talent.  Well  —  we  shall 
leave  papers.  Earthquakes  and  revolutions  may  hap- 
pen overhead,  but  a  hundred  years  hence,  when  the 
papers  are  opened,  a  search  will  be  made.  Our  trav- 
eling simians  will  be  found  by  a  very  different  world, 
I  assure  you,  Pennell !" 

He  had  the  light  of  an  enthusiast  in  his  eyes,  and 
his  mood  aroused  my  own  imagination. 

''What  use  is  that,  Lazaroff  ?"  I  cried.  "We  shall 
not  know  the  results  of  our  experiment.  And  what 
message  can  monkeys  carry  to  that  world  concern- 
ing ours?    If  monkeys,  why  not  men?'* 

He  looked  at  me  fixedly,  smiling  ever  so  little,  and 
I  perceived  that  he  had  drawn  the  expression  of 
that  thought  out  of  the  depths  of  my  own  mind  by 
his  strong  will.    Now  he  nodded  in  approbation. 

"Pennell — "  he  began,  with  hesitation,  "do  you 
want  to  know  why  I  myself  do  not —  ?"  He 
stopped.    "I  am  almost  ashamed  to  tell  you  what  it 


8  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 


is  that  makes  me  wish  to  live  out  my  life  among  my 
contemporaries,"  he  continued.  *'How  strong  the 
primal  instincts  are  in  all  of  us,  Arnold!  Nature, 
with  her  blind,  but  perfectly  directed  will,  warring 
on  mind,  and  mind  rising  slowly  to  dominate  her, 
armed,  as  she  is,  with  her  dreadful  arsenal  of  a  thou- 
sand superstitions,  instincts,  terrors.  It  is  a  fearful 
battle,  Arnold,  and  many  of  us  fall  by  the  way." 

He  turned  aside  abruptly,  as  if  he  regretted  the 
half-confidence.  I  thought  I  knew  what  he  meant, 
and  I  was  stirred  too. 

We  dined  that  night  with  Sir  Spofforth  and  Esther 
in  their  new  house  within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  In- 
stitute. Esther  was  the  only  child ;  her  mother  had 
died  during  her  infancy.  We  four  had  been  inti- 
mates during  the  whole  five  years  of  the  Institute's 
existence ;  strangely  alone,  we  four,  in  the  busy  Sur- 
rey town.  The  memory  of  that  last  night  is  the  most 
poignant  that  remains  to  me.  How  far  away  it 
seems,  and  how  long  ago!  If  I  could  have  known 
then  that  our  companionship  was  ended ! 

The  argument  to  which  I  have  referred  began 
after  dinner,  over  our  coffee.  It  was  our  usual  hour 
for  disputations,  but  they  had  never  been  so  keen, 
nor  Lazaroff  so  outspoken.  Sir  Spofforth  was  a 
man  of  the  old  school  of  thought,  religious,  tolerant, 
and  withal  more  disquieted  than  he  himself  was 
aware,  by  the  dominant  materialism  of  the  younger 


Oz^er  the  Coffee  Cttps 


men;  and  Lazaroff  had  all  the  tactlessness  of  his 
Jena  training.  There  were  rumors  of  war  with 
Germany,  but  Sir  Spofforth  was  too  old  to  adjust 
his  mind  immediately  to  this  conception.  He  grew 
heated,  as  always,  on  the  cynical  scheme  of  the 
democratic  government,  dictated  by  its  greed  for 
power,  to  force  Ulster  beneath  an  alien  yoke,  upon 
the  loud  and  stunning  silence  of  our  English  paci- 
fists and  lovers  of  oppressed  nations  where  their  sin- 
cerity would  be  best  proved.  He  deplored  the  new 
and  dangerous  doctrines  that  were  permeating  soci- 
ety, the  decay  of  morals,  the  loss  of  reverence  and 
pride  in  service.  Civilization,  he  said,  seemed  dying, 
and  democracy  its  murderer. 

''Dying!  It  is  still  struggling  in  its  birth  throes!" 
cried  Lazaroff  impetuously.  "I  grant  that  the  de- 
mocracy of  today  has  proved  its  futility.  But  there 
is  a  new  democracy  to  come.  We  are  enslaved  by 
the  traditions  of  the  past,  by  a  worn-out  religious 
system  based  upon  the  primitive  animistic  notion  of 
a  soul.  There  is  the  fatal  weakness  of  our  democracy. 
Science  has  never  found  the  smallest  trace  of  a  soul ; 
on  the  contrary,  we  know  beyond  doubt  that  we  live 
in  a  mechanistic  universe  of  absolute  determinism.'* 
I  see  Sir  Spofforth's  tolerant,  yet  eager  look  as 
he  answered  him. 

"I  grant  you  that  the  soul  is  not  to  be  found  in 
the  dissecting-room,  Herman,"  he  answered.     'T,  as 


10  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

you  know,  have  devoted  my  life  to  the  empirical 
investigation  of  truth,  and  I  do  not  decry  the  method. 
But  you  cannot  ignore  the  interior  way  of  analysis, 
through  the  one  thing  we  know  most  intimately  — 
consciousness." 

"A  by-product  of  matter,"  answered  Lazarofif  con- 
temptuously. ''Or,  if  we  want  to  be  precisely  true, 
the  sum  and  substance  of  cell  consciousness." 

''Well,  throw  the  blame  on  the  cell,  then,  in  the 
modern  fashion,"  said  Sir  Spofforth,  smiling.  "I 
doubt,  though,  whether  you  have  solved  the  one  big 
problem  by  creating  some  million  smaller  ones.  On 
the  contrary,  you  are  postulating  a  hierarchy  of  intel- 
ligences, quite  in  the  Catholic  fashion.  If  brain  con- 
sciousness is  not  a  specialized  form  of  omniscient 
consciousness,  how  does  the  brainless  amoeba  find  its 
food  and  engulf  it,  or  the  vine  its  supports?  If  you 
have  robbed  us  of  the  abortive  hope  of  saving  the 
little  empire  of  the  brain  beyond  the  change  of  death 
—  and  I  deny  even  that  entirely  —  some  of  us  have 
identified  consciousness  with  a  non-material  person- 
ality functioning  through  all  life  and  fashioning  it." 

"Vitalism!"  scoffed  Lazaroff. 

I  watched  Esther's  eager  face  as  she  looked  from 
one  speaker  to  the  other.  Sir  Spofforth  seemed  more 
agitated  than  the  situation  warranted,  and  I  saw 
him  glance  at  his  daughter  a  little  nervously  before 
he  answered. 


Over  the  Coffee  Cups  11 

^'Herman,  I  repeat  that  I  have  given  my  life  to 
scientific  investigation,"  he  rephed.  "But  I  have 
always  recognized  the  validity  of  the  metaphysical 
inquiry.  I  believe  Faith  and  Science  have  found 
their  paths  convergent.  Lodge  thinks  so,  too.  Kel- 
vin took  that  stand.  James,  your  great  psychologist, 
shifted  before  he  died.  Science  must  confine  her 
activities  within  their  natural  bounds  and  not  seek  to 
play  a  pontifical  part,  or  the  excesses  of  the  Scholas- 
tics will  be  repeated  in  a  new  and  darker  age." 

"I  cannot  agree  with  you,"  cried  Lazaroff  vehe- 
mently. "An  age  is  dawning  when,  relieved  from 
their  chains,  men  will  look  open-eyed  into  Nature  to 
learn  her  secrets.  Today  civilization  is  being  choked 
to  death  by  the  effete,  the  defective,  whom  a  too  be- 
nign humanitarianism  suffers  to  live  beneath  the 
shelter  of  a  worn-out  faith.  The  fearful  menace  of 
a  race  of  defectives  has  laid  hold  of  the  popular 
imagination.  Soon  we  shall  follow  the  lead  of  pro- 
gressive America,  and  forbid  them  to  propagate  their 
kind.  Here  any  statesman  who  dared  suggest  sterili- 
zation would  be  hounded  from  office.  But  England 
is  awakening. 

*Tt  will  go,  that  relic  of  degrading,  savage  super- 
stition called  the  soul,  the  barbarous  legacy  of  the 
ages  enshrined  in  a  hundred  fairy  stories.  Science 
will  rule.  Man  will  be  free.  The  logical  State, 
finely  conceived  by  Wells,  without  its  rudimentary 


12  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

appendixes  and  fish-gills,  will  be  the  nation  of  the 
future.  For  we  are  outgrowing  childish  things.  Man 
is  coming  of  age.  If  only  I  could  live  to  see  it !  But 
I  was  born  a  century  too  soon!" 

The  expression  on  Lazaroff's  face  at  that  moment 
was  so  singular  that  I  could  not  take  my  eyes  away 
from  it. 

"It  will  be  a  world  of  physical  and  mental  perfec- 
tion, too,"  he  cried.  "Of  free  men  and  women, 
freely  mating,  separating  when  the  mating  impulse 
is  dead — " 

"Yes,  he  is  right,  Father,"  Esther  interposed 
eagerly.  "Whatever  else  may  come,  the  hour  of 
woman's  liberation  is  striking." 

"That  hour  struck  many  times  in  the  ancient 
world,  my  dear,"  her  father  answered.  "And  it 
brought,  not  liberation,  but  slavery."  He  turned  to 
Lazaroff.  "You  want  a  world  of  men  and  women 
reared  like  prize  cattle  and  governed  by  laws  as 
mechanistic  as  your  universe,"  he  said.  "Well,  Her- 
man, you  have  had  that  world.  That  was  the  pre- 
Christian  world.  Your  free  love,  your  eugenics  has 
been  tried  in  Rome,  in  Sparta,  in  many  an  ancient 
kingdom.  And  we  know  what  those  civilizations 
were. 

"If  you  eugenists  only  knew  the  dreadful  crop  of 
dragon's  teeth  that  you  are  scattering  today  upon  the 
fertile  soil  of  the  unthinking  mind!     Because  we. 


Over  the  Coffee  Caps  13 

fortunately,  live  in  the  millennial  lull  of  a  transi- 
tional age,  you  think  that  human  nature  has  changed ; 
that  the  fury  of  the  Crusades  will  never  be  renewed 
in  fantastic  social  wars,  and  the  madness  of  relig- 
ious fratricide  in  the  madness  of  Science  become 
Faith.  All  the  old  evils  are  lying  low,  lurking  in  the 
minds  of  men,  ready  to  spring  forth  in  all  their 
ancient  fury  when  the  wise  and  illogical  compro- 
mises, evolved  through  centuries  of  experience,  have 
been  discarded.  I  sometimes  think  that  Holy  Rus- 
sia has  man's  future  in  her  charge.  For  without 
Christianity  the  moral  nature  of  man  will  be  where 
it  has  been  in  ages  past.  Social  and  economic  read- 
justments leave  it  unchanged." 

"A  religion  of  slaves,  of  the  weak  and  incompe- 
tent," said  Lazaroff  loudly. 

"You  think,  then,  that  human  passions  have  be- 
come emulsified  by  education?  What  a  delusion!" 
''Unquestionably.  Permit  me  to  refer  to  myself 
as  an  example  of  the  crass  materialist.  For  I  do  not 
believe  in  anything  but  matter.  Matter  is  soul,  as 
Hseckel  proves.  Yet,  I  am  not  on  that  account  a  man 
of  base  impulses.  I  do  not  want  to  wound,  to  kill, 
to  steal,  to  torture — " 

*'Are     you     quite     sure     you     know     yourself, 
Herman?" 

''But  I  utterly  reject  the  efficacy  of  your  Chris- 
tianity, except  in  this  low  order  of  civilization.     It 


14  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

is  a  dead  faith,  with  its  fooHsh  miracles,  its  pre- 
posterous and  unscientific  dualism." 

"And  I  say,"  cried  Sir  Spofforth,  rising  out  of 
his  chair,  ''that  it  is  precisely  the  Christian  norm,  the 
unattainable  ideal  of  Christ,  working  in  the  human 
heart,  that  has  freed  civilization  from  cruelty  and 
shame.  Why,  look  backward  before  Christ  lived, 
and  forward:  don't  you  see  that  we  are  actually 
indwelling  in  Him,  according  to  His  promise?  Think 
of  the  Christians  burned  as  living  torches  in  Nero's 
time,  and  read  the  writings  of  contemporary  Ro- 
mans, men  of  disciplined  lives  and  a  mentality  as 
great  as  ours.  Read  Pliny,  Tacitus,  Seneca;  read 
of  the  hopelessness  of  life  when  Rome  was  at  her 
highest,  and  see  if  this  stirred  them.  Picture  Marcus 
Aurelius,  the  noble  Stoic,  presiding  over  the  amphi- 
theater. Study  the  manners  and  morals  of  Athens 
when  her  light  burned  most  brightly.  Contrast  a 
thousand  years  of  man's  abasement,  and  try  to  set 
the  Inquisition  against  that. 

"Future  ages  will  say  this :  that  nobody,  not  one 
of  our  statesmen  saw  the  course  that  had  been  set 
when  the  civil  State  was  first  established.  Never 
before  in  history  had  tribe  or  nation  existed  but  grew 
up  round  the  focus  of  some  god.  The  churchless 
State  is  a  body  without  a  soul.  Warnings  multiply  — 
in  France  and  in  America  —  but  who  can  read  them  ? 
When  religion  goes,  the  spirit  of  the  race  is  dying. 


Over  the  Coffee  Cups  15 

It  is  just  the  ideal  of  Christ,  enshrined  in  the  minds 
of  a  few  leaders  of  character  and  trained  conviction, 
that  has  kept  the  world  on  its  slow  course  of  prog- 
ress. And  nothing  else  saves  us  from  the  unstable 
tyrannies  of  ancient  days." 

I  was  so  stirred  by  Sir  Spofforth's  eloquence  that 
I  clapped  my  hands  vigorously,  although  I  did  not 
wholly  agree  with  him.  Esther  was  staring  at 
Lazaroff ;  she  was  partly  convinced  and  wanted  him 
to  answer  her  father.  But  Lazaroff,  ignoring  her 
gaze,  scowled  at  me  across  the  table. 

*'So  you  are  of  the  same  mind,  are  you,  Pennell  ?" 
he  asked,  not  trying  to  disguise  his  sneer.  "And 
you  don't  imagine  that  it  is  your  missing  five  centi- 
meters? Well,  I  hope  that  you  may  have  your 
chance  to  find  out  for  yourself.  I  hope  you  may, 
indeed."  He  nodded  and  smiled  in  a  rather  evil 
fashion. 

*Well,  I  must  really  offer  you  all  an  apology," 
said  Sir  Spofforth,  penitently.  ''Enough  of  these 
debatable  subjects  for  a  week  at  least.  We  two  shall 
never  agree  on  politics  or  religion,  Herman.  Let 
us  go  upstairs." 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  GREAT  EXPERIMENT 

CINCE  Sir  Spofforth  was  a  little  infirm,  and 
leaned  on  my  arm  to  make  his  slow  ascent  of 
the  stairs,  we  entered  the  drawing-room  a  full  min- 
ute after  the  others.  The  room  was  empty;  Esther 
and  Lazaroff  had  gone  into  the  big  conservatory  that 
opened  out  of  the  south  side.  I  heard  the  rustle  of 
the  girl's  dress  as  she  moved  among  the  palms,  and 
Lazaroff  speaking  earnestly  in  a  low  voice. 

"Sit  down,  Arnold,"  said  Sir  Spofforth,  subsiding 
stiffly  into  his  arm  chair.  'Thank  you,  my  boy.  I 
feel  old  age  coming  swiftly  upon  me  nowadays.  No, 
I  am  not  self-deceived.  It  is  strange,  this  sense  of 
the  daily  diminution  of  the  physical  powers,  and 
not  at  all  unpleasant,  either.  It  seems  familiar,  too, 
as  if  one  had  passed  through  it  plenty  of  times 
before.  It  is  something  like  bedtime,  Arnold,  but 
I  hope  and  believe  there  will  be  a  tomorrow,  for  I 
assure  you  I  have  an  almost  boyish  zest  for  life, 
though  rather  contemplative  than  energetic  for  a 
while,  till  I  have  rested.  There  is  a  little  forgetful- 
ness  of  names  and  places,  but  memory  seems  to 
become  more  luminous  as  it  falls  back  upon  itself. 
Well,  some  day  you  will  experience  this.     You  two 

16 


The  Great  Experiment  17 

must  carry  on  the  work  of  the  Institute.  Herman 
is  an  able  fellow,  in  spite  of  his  mechanistic  notions. 
But  I  wonder  whether  any  woman  could  be  happy 
with  him?" 

He  watched  me  rather  keenly  as  he  said  that. 

^'There's  only  one  thing  makes  me  want  to  live  a 
little  longer,  Arnold,"  he  continued,  "and  that  is 
Esther's  future.  It  would  be  a  great  satisfaction  to 
me  to  see  her  settled  happily  before  I  go.  Forgive 
an  old  man's  frankness  if  I  say  that  sometimes  I 
have  almost  thought  you  two  cared  for  each  other." 

"You  are  quite  right  in  part,  sir,"  I  replied.  "I 
do  care  for  Esther  a  good  deal." 

"And  she,  I  am  sure,  has  a  very  warm  feeling  for 
you,  Arnold.  There  is  nobody  whom  I  would  rather 
have  for  Esther's  husband  than  yourself." 

"Well,  sir,  the  fact  is,  we  are  not  sure  that  our 
views  are  altogether  harmonious,"  I  confessed.  "I 
am,  as  you  know,  rather  sceptical  about  the  newest 
views  for  revolutionizing  woman's  status,  while 
Esther  —  " 

"Is  a  full-fledged  suffragist  and  has  exalted  no- 
tions about  the  race  of  the  future.  Tush,  my  boy! 
Never  hold  back  proposing  marriage  because  of  intel- 
lectual differences.  The  race  spirit,  sitting  up  aloft 
and  pulling  the  strings,  is  laughing  at  you." 

"But,  Sir  Spofforth,  to  be  candid,  it  was  not  I 
who  held  back,"  I  answered. 


18  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

''Hum!  I  see!"  he  answered,  nodding  his  head. 
Then,  very  seriously,  ''My  boy,  I  want  you  to  win 
her.  It  would  embitter  my  last  days  to  see  my 
daughter  the  wife  of  Herman  Lazaroff.  I  have 
watched  and  tried  to  study  him:  it  isn't  his  mate- 
rialism, Arnold,  it's  his  infernal  will.  He'll  break 
everything  and  everybody  that  conflicts  with  it  when 
he  wakes  up  and  knows  his  powers.  Now  he  doesn't 
understand  himself  at  all.  He  can  see  nothing 
interiorly,  as  good  old  Swedenborg  would  say.  I 
tell  you,  Herman  Lazaroff,  able  fellow  as  he  is,  and 
splendid  brain,  is  a  machine  of  devilish  energy,  and, 
unfortunately,  fashioned  for  purely  destructive 
purposes." 

Like  most  old  men,  he  had  the  habit  of  falling 
into  soliloquy,  and  toward  the  end  of  his  speech  his 
voice  dropped,  and  he  spoke  rather  to  himself  than 
to  me.  Though  I  remembered  his  words  afterward, 
at  the  time  I  regarded  his  indictment  as  the  preju- 
dice of  an  octogenarian.  He  was  in  his  eightieth 
year,  and  there  was  no  doubt  his  keen  mind  was  fail- 
ing. I  was  searching  for  a  reply  when  Esther  and 
Lazaroff  came  back  from  the  conservatory. 

Esther's  face  was  flushed  and  she  looked  utterly 
miserable.  But  I  was  amazed  to  see  the  expression 
upon  Lazaroff's.  He  was  deathly  white,  and  his 
black  eyes  seemed  to  gleam  with  infernal  resolution. 
At  that  moment  it  did  occur  to  me  that  Sir  Spofforth 


The  Great  Experiment  19 

might  be  wiser  in  his  judgment  than  I.  Lazaroff 
came  forward  quietly  and  sat  down,  and  I  tried  to 
make  the  occasion  for  conversation.  But  he,  seated 
motionless  and  abstracted,  seemed  hardly  to  hear 
me,  and  rose  from  his  chair  after  a  few  moments, 
looking  toward  Esther,  who  was  standing  near  the 
conservatory  entrance.  Her  brown-colored  gown 
gleamed  golden  in  the  lamplight. 

''Sir  Spofforth,  Miss  Esther  is  interested  in  our 
new  freezing-plant,"  he  said.  "I  thought,  with  your 
permission,  that  I  would  take  her  to  see  it  lit  up  by 
electricity.     You'll  come  too,  Pennell?" 

"Wouldn't  daytime  be  better,  Lazaroff?"  I  sug- 
gested, and  I  did  not  know  what  was  the  cause  of  the 
vaguely  felt  distrust  that  prompted  my  words.  Cer- 
tainly I  had  no  fears  of  any  sort,  or  reason  for  any. 
Yet,  looking  at  Lazaroff's  face,  now  flushed  and 
somehow  sinister,  I  remembered  Sir  Spofforth's 
words  again. 

'Tet  us  go  tonight,"  said  Esther,  and  it  seemed  to 
me  that  there  was  a  note  of  penitence  in  her  voice, 
as  if  she  wished  to  make  Lazaroff  amends. 

She  came  slowly  across  the  room  toward  us. 
She  looked  at  Lazaroff  —  I  thought  remorsefully, 
and  at  me  with  an  expression  of  understanding  that 
I  never  had  seen  in  her  eyes  before.  My  heart  leaped 
up  to  meet  that  message.  But  that  was  the  instant 
signal-flash  of  souls,  and  the  next  moment  I  detected 


20  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

in  her  glance  the  same  sense  of  foreboding  that  mine 
must  have  shown  her. 

It  is  strange  how  instantaneously  such  complexi- 
ties present  themselves  with  convincing  power. 
Though  the  knowledge  lay  latent  in  my  mind,  I  am 
sure  now  I  was  aware  that  I  should  never  set  eyes 
upon  Sir  Spofforth,  in  life  or  death,  again. 

He  rose  up  slowly.  *'Don't  be  long,  my  dear," 
he  said  to  Esther.  ''I  shall  not  wait  up  for  you. 
Good  night,  Herman.  Good  night,  Arnold."  He 
passed  the  door  and  began  to  ascend  the  stairs.  He 
turned.  "Arnold!"  he  began.  ''No,  never  mind. 
I  will  tell  you  tomorrow." 

He  never  told  me.  He  was  gone,  and  we  three 
w^ent  downstairs,  out  of  the  house,  and  crossed  the 
garden  toward  the  Institute,  whose  squat  form 
blocked  the  view  of  the  road.  Croydon,  in  the  dis- 
tance, hummed  like  a  huge  dynamo.  The  Bear 
dipped  slantingly  above ;  the  wind  was  shaking  down 
the  fading  petals  of  the  rambler  roses.  I  remember 
the  picture  more  vividly  than  I  perceived  it  then; 
the  intense  darkness,  the  white  lights  of  the  distant 
town,  the  yellow  lamp  glow  on  the  short  grass,  cut 
off  squarely  by  the  window-sash  and  trisected  by 
the  window-bars.  Lazaroff  led  the  way,  walking  a 
little  distance  in  front  of  us,  toward  the  annex,  a 
building  just  completed,  in  which  was  the  new  freez- 
ing-plant, with  our  few  guinea-pigs,  and  the  monkeys 


The  Great  Experiment  21 

that  had  been  bought  recently,  out  of  our  own  money, 
for  the  great  experiment.  He  drew  a  key  from  his 
pocket  and  began  fumbling  with  the  lock.  Esther 
stopped  in  the  shadows  at  my  side. 

'*He  asked  me  to  marry  him,"  she  said.  ^'I  told 
him  never  —  never!  That  was  the  word  I  used.  I 
used  to  think  that  I  could  care  for  him,  Arnold,  but 
in  that  instant  I  knew  —  yes,  I  knew  my  heart." 

I  knew  mine  too,  and  I  took  her  in  my  arms  in 
the  shadow  of  the  Institute.  She  lifted  her  mouth 
to  mine.  All  the  while  Lazaroff  was  fumbling 
with  the  lock.  Yet  I  am  sure  he  was  aware, 
by  virtue  of  that  intuition  which  tells  us  all  vital 
things. 

When  he  had  opened  the  door  he  turned  a  switch, 
and  the  interior  leaped  into  view  round  twenty  points 
of  light  that  pierced  the  shadows. 

"Come  in,  Arnold,"  he  said,  turning  to  me  —  and 
I  thought  there  was  blood  on  his  lip.  ''I  will  lead, 
and  you  and  Miss  Esther  can  follow  me.  Don't 
be  alarmed.  Miss  Esther,  if  you  hear  the  monkeys 
screaming.    They  grow  lonely  at  night." 

*Toor  little  things!  How  dreadful!"  Esther 
said. 

*'We  shall  not  keep  them  here  very  long,"  Laza- 
roff  answered  in  extenuation.  He  stooped  over  a 
cane  chair  and  picked  up  a  warm  shawl.  ''You  will 
need  to  put  this  about  you,"  he  continued,  standing 


22  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

back  and  leaving  nie  to  adjust  it  about  Esther's 
shoulders. 

So  he  had  planned  to  bring  her  here;  his  subtle 
mind  had  foreseen  even  this  detail.  He  left  nothing 
to  the  unexpected.    He  lived  up  to  his  principles. 

We  passed  between  two  silent  dynamos.  The 
freezing-plant  was  already  in  operation,  but  George, 
the  machinist,  went  off  duty  at  six,  after  stopping 
the  dynamos,  and  the  temperature  did  not  rise  much 
during  the  night.  It  was  very  cold.  The  moisture 
on  the  brick  walls  had  congealed  to  a  thin  film  of  ice, 
and  a  frosted  network  covered  the  ammonia  pipes. 
Lazaroff  stopped  in  front  of  a  large  wooden  chest, 
with  a  glass  door. 

'Tn  this  very  ordinary-looking  icebox  we  keep 
our  choicest  specimens,"  he  said  to  Esther. 

"Don't  open  that!"  I  exclaimed. 

He  laughed  disagreeably.  "I  had  no  intention  of 
doing  so,"  he  answered.  ''You  applauded  Sir  Spof- 
forth's  mediaeval  vitalistic  views  tonight,  Pennell, 
and  the  transition  from  the  dream  to  the  reality 
might  prove  too  disturbing  for  your  peace  of  mind. 
Dream  on,  by  permission  of  those  five  missing  centi- 
meters. It  is  such  an  extinguisher  of  the  soul  theory 
to  see  parts  of  the  organism  flourishing  in  perfect 
health,  all  ready  to  work  and  grow,  devoid  of  con- 
sciousness and  brain  attachments.  We  have  two- 
fifths  of  a  guinea-pig's  heart.  Miss  Esther,  that  is 


The  Great  Experiment  23 

yearning  to  begin  its  pulsations  as  soon  as  it  is  placed 
in  a  suitable  medium." 

He  passed  on.  Esther's  fingers  gripped  my  wrist 
tightly.  ''What  an  abominable  man!"  she  whis- 
pered. ''Arnold  —  my  dear  —  to  think  I  didn't 
know  my  mind  until  an  hour  ago !  When  he  asked 
me,  something  seemed  to  strip  the  mask  from  his 
face  and  the  scales  from  my  eyes.  I  hate  him  —  but 
I'm  afraid  of  him,  Arnold." 

I  drew  her  arm  through  mine  and  held  her  hand. 
Lazaroff  preceded  us  down  a  flight  of  new  concrete 
steps  which  had  just  dried.  The  cellar  into  which 
we  descended  had  been  used  for  storing  packing- 
cases,  and  we  had  always  gone  down  by  a  short  lad- 
der. It  was  here  that  the  experiment  was  to  be 
made.  I  had  been  shown  nothing  of  Lazaroff's 
preparations. 

The  cellar  had  been  paved  with  concrete  since  my 
last  visit,  and  I  thought  it  looked  smaller  than  for- 
merly. As  we  went  down  we  heard  the  monkeys 
begin  to  chatter.  Lazaroff  switched  on  a  light.  I 
saw  a  cage  of  guinea-pigs  close  at  hand.  They 
squealed  and  scurried  among  their  straw.  Two 
monkeys,  awakened  by  the  light,  put  their  arms 
about  each  other  and  grimaced  at  me.  A  tiny  mar- 
moset stretched  out  its  black,  human-like  arms  be- 
tween the  bars  appealingly.  It  looked  very  lonely 
and  child-like  as  it  blinked  at  us.     What  a  terrific 


24  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

journey  into  the   future  Lazaroff,  like  some  god, 
planned  for  that  atom  of  flesh. 

He  stopped  at  the  end  of  the  cellar.  I  perceived 
now  that  the  brick  wall  was  new ;  it  seemed  to  be  an 
inner  wall,  bounding  a  partition;  that  was  why  the 
cellar  looked  smaller.  The  half -dried  mortar  clung 
flabbily  to  the  interstices. 

"Can  you  find  the  entrance,  Arnold?"  asked 
Lazaroff. 

'The  entrance?"  The  light  was  not  strong,  to  be 
sure,  but  still  it  seemed  impossible  that  there  could 
be  an  ingress  into  that  solid  wall. 

Lazaroff  touched  a  brick,  and  a  large  mass  swung 
inward,  like  a  door.  In  fact,  it  was  a  door,  with 
bricks  facing  it,  the  outer  edge  contiguous  with  the 
outer  edge  of  the  fixed  rows,  so  that  the  deception 
was  perfect. 

"You  didn't  tell  me  that  the  chamber  was  com- 
pleted, Lazaroff!"  I  exclaimed  in  surprise. 

*'No,  Arnold?  Well,  but  I  don't  tell  you  every- 
thing," he  answered. 

We  stepped  through  the  doorway,  and  Lazaroff 
switched  on  a  tiny  light  within.  Now  I  perceived 
that  we  were  standing  in  a  long  and  very  narrow 
space,  with  cement-faced  walls  and  roof,  making 
the  chamber  impervious  to  sound  and  light.  It  was 
below  the  level  of  the  ground,  and  thus,  as  Lazaroff 
had  said,  earthquakes  might  happen  above,  and  it 


The  Great  Experiment  25 

would  never  be  discovered,  not  even  though  the 
annex  were  pulled  down,  unless  one  blasted  out  the 
foundations. 

The  sole  contents  were  three  large  cylinders  of 
metal,  looking  like  giant  thermos  bottles.  Each  was 
about  six  feet  long  —  too  long  for  a  monkey,  it 
seemed  to  me  —  and  had  a  glass  plate  in  front. 
Lazaroff  drove  his  heel  against  the  glass  of  the 
nearest  cylinder  with  all  his  might. 

''It  is  quite  unbreakable,  you  see,"  he  said.  "It 
will  turn  a  rifle  bullet.  'Suffragette  glass,*  the  maker 
calls  it." 

"But  what  are  these  for?"  asked  Esther. 

"These,  Miss  Esther,  are  to  convey  three  monkeys 
into  the  twenty-first  century,"  answered  Lazaroff. 
"By  instantaneously  suspending  animation  at  a  tem- 
perature of  twenty-five  degrees,  we  hope  to  maintain 
the  bodily  organism  without  change  until  the  time 
for  their  awakening  comes.  The  problem  is,  whether 
that  mysterious  by-product  of  matter  called  con- 
sciousness will  return." 

"How  dreadful !"  exclaimed  Estlier,  shuddering. 

"But  the  temperature  will  rise,  Lazaroff,"  I  inter- 
posed, "and  however  carefully  your  cylinders  are 
made  it  is  impossible  to  hope  to  maintain  the  internal 
heat  at  only  twenty-five  degrees  during  a  century." 

"You  forget  that  our  monkeys  will  be  sealed  in  a 
vacuum,"  he  answered.    *'There  is  an  inner  and  an 


26  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

outer  case  of  vanadium  steel  mixed  with  a  secret 
composition  which  will  resist  even  thermite.  And 
even  if  the  temperature  does  rise  —  well,  if  a  homely 
instance  may  be  allowed  —  you  are  aware  that 
canned  beef,  as  the  Americans  term  it,  will  remain 
fresh  in  an  air-tight  tin  even  in  the  tropics.  That  is 
dead  matter,  while  our  monkeys  will  be  millions  of 
living  cells.  The  vacuum  is  created  by  simply  screw- 
ing on  this  cap." 

"But  not  a  perfect  vacuum,"  I  interposed.  "That 
is  impossible." 

"Sufficiently  near  to  eliminate  the  aerobic  bacilli 
which  flourish  on  oxygen,  and  the  infinitesimal 
amount  of  that  remaining  in  the  cylinder  is  probably 
absorbed  and  transmuted  by  the  surface  capillaries 
and  lungs,  leaving  simply  carbon  dioxide,  neon, 
crypton,  et  cetera." 

I  examined  the  cylinder  nearest  me  w^ith  interest. 
A  small  dial  was  set  into  its  cap.  Lazaroff  antici- 
pated my  question. 

"That  is  the  most  ingenious  part  of  the  mech- 
anism," he  explained.  "It  is  a  hundred-year  clock, 
made  specially  for  me  by  Jurgensen,  of  Copenhagen, 
and,  to  salve  your  conscience,  paid  for,  like  the  cyl- 
inders, out  of  my  private  purse.  It  runs  true  to 
within  three-tenths  of  a  second.  The  alarm  can  be 
set  to  any  year,  if  necessary.  A  good  alarm  clock 
for  lazy  people,  Miss  Esther.    This  one,  you  see,  I 


TJic  Great  Experiment  27 


have  already  set  to  a  hundred  years  ahead.  This  is 
at  sixty-five ;  I  shall  set  that  to  a  hundred  presently, 
for  we  don't  want  one  of  our  monkeys  to  awaken 
several  generations  ahead  of  his  friends.  This  one 
is  not  set.  Now,  observe,  I  turn  the  hands  on  the 
dials.  The  large  figures  are  years.  The  smaller 
ones  are  days.  Now  as  soon  as  the  cap  is  screwed 
on,  the  internal  vacuum  causes  this  lever  to  fall, 
catching  this  cam  and  starting  the  mechanism.  We 
have  then  a  bottled  monkey  in  an  indestructible  shell, 
for  really  I  do  not  know  what  could  make  much 
impression  on  steel  of  this  thickness,  which  is  both 
resistant  and  malleable,  and  fireproof  too.  It  is  im- 
possible, in  short,  to  release  the  inmate  before  the 
appointed  time,  and,  even  then,  immediate  death 
would  ensue." 

"Why?"  I  asked. 

"Because  resuscitation  must  be  gradual.  I  base 
my  hopes  upon  the  chance  that  the  lungs  and  heart 
will  automatically  resume  their  functions,  being  in 
their  most  perfect  medium.  But  if  air  were  admitted 
before  the  bodily  machine  had  become,  so  to  say, 
synchronized,  the  swarm  of  micro-organisms  would 
make  short  work  of  our  subject.  Besides,  the  hasty 
respiration  produced  by  this  rush  of  air  would  pro- 
duce immediate  death  by  its  transformation  into 
carbon  dioxide.  The  air  must  enter  under  slierht 
pressure,  in  minute  quantities,  during  a  period  of 


28  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

about  ten  days.  Very  well !  As  the  timepiece  grad- 
ually runs  down,  the  cap  slowly  unscrews,  and  a  tiny 
quantity  of  filtered  air  leaks  in.  It  is  so  arranged 
that,  at  the  exact  end  of  the  period,  the  cap  flies  off, 
and  the  subject  awakes." 

"Herman,"  said  Esther,  hurriedly,  "I  don't  like 
this.  It  isn't  right.  And  I  am  sure  my  father  does 
not  know  about  it." 

"My  dear  Miss  Esther,  I  assure  you  that  it  is  a 
very  ordinary  scientific  experiment,"  Lazaroff  an- 
swered, laughing.  "Come,  Arnold,"  he  added,  "why 
not  get  in  yourself  and  try  how  it  feels?  You  are 
not  afraid?" 

"In  my  clothes?" 

"Certainly." 

"Arnold,  I  don't  want  you  to  get  into  that  thing," 
Esther  protested. 

"Of  course,  if  our  friend  is  afraid  that  I  am  going 
to  screw  him  up  for  a  century — "  began  Lazaroff. 

"I  am  not  at  all  afraid,"  I  returned,  a  little  nettled. 
"How  do  I  get  in?" 

"I'll  have  to  help  you,"  Lazaroff  answered.  "It 
was  not  made  for  a  big  man  in  clothes.  Button  your 
coat.  Now  —  put  your  arms  down  by  your  sides." 
He  rolled  a  cylinder  upon  the  floor,  and  I  put  my  feet 
inside  rather  reluctantly  and  squeezed  down  to  the 
bottom.  Lazaroff  looked  at  me  and  burst  into  loud 
laughter. 


The  Great  Experiment  29 


''Not  much  room  to  turn  round,  is  there  ?"  he  said, 
raising  the  cyHnder  with  an  effort  and  standing  it 
on  its  base  again. 

"Come  out,  Arnold,"  pleaded  Esther;  and  I  saw 
that  her  face  was  white  with  fear. 

But  I  was  quite  helpless,  and  above  me  I  saw 
Lazaroff,  smiling  at  my  predicament. 

"Now  if  I  were  going  to  be  so  unkind  as  to  send 
you  into  the  next  century,"  he  said,  "to  be  the  only 
animist,  with  a  defective  skull,  in  a  world  of  vile 
materialism — " 

"Please,  Herman,  for  my  sake !"  Esther  implored. 

"I  should  put  on  the  cap,"  he  said,  and  fitted  it. 

He  must  have  touched  some  mechanism  that  I  had 
not  seen,  for  instantly  the  cap  began  to  whir  on  the 
screw.  Through  the  glass  face  I  caught  a  last 
glimpse  of  Esther's  terrified  eyes.  The  image 
blurred  and  vanished  as  my  breath  dimmed  the  glass 
and  frosted  it.  I  heard  the  swift  jar  of  the  cap 
mechanism  end  in  a  jarring  click.  I  gasped  for  air; 
there  was  none.  My  head  swam,  my  throat  was 
closed;  the  blackness  was  pricked  into  flecks  of  fire. 
I  groped  for  memory  through  unconsciousness  — 
and  ceased. 


CHAPTER  III 

IN    THE    CELLAR 

T  HAVE  heard  patients,  emerging  from  the  chloro- 
form swoon,  describe  how,  before  awakening, 
they  had  seemed  to  view  themselves  lying  uncon- 
scious upon  their  beds,  detailing  the  posture  of  their 
motionless  bodies  and  inert  limbs.  In  this  way,  now, 
I  seemed  to  see  myself. 

I  am  sure  that  was  no  dream  of  the  vague  border- 
land between  death  and  life.  I  saw  the  pallid  face, 
so  shrunken  that  the  skin  clung  to  the  edged  bones, 
and  the  dry  hair,  the  pinched  lips  and  waxen  hands. 
I  saw  myself  as  if  from  some  non-spatial  point, 
and  with  singular  indifference,  except  that  one 
fragment  of  knowledge,  detached  from  my  serene 
omniscience,  troubled  me.  I  had  to  return  within 
that  physical  envelope;  and  behind  me  lay  dim 
memories,  quite  untranslatable,  but  ineffably  rap- 
turous, which  made  that  projected  incarnation  an 
event  of  dread. 

Vague  images  of  earthly  things  began  to  float  up- 
ward out  of  the  dark,  as  it  were,  symbols  of  physical 
life  whose  meaning  remained  obscure.  I  pictured  a 
spring-board,  on  which  a  swimmer  stood  poised, 
waiting  to  dive  into  the  sea  and  set  the  plank  behind 

30 


In  the  Cellar  31 


him  quivering,  and  a  large  roll  of  some  material,  like 
a  carpet,  blocking  a  cellar  door. 

Gradually,  through  an  alternation  of  dreams  and 
blankness,  I  began  to  be  aware  of  the  parched  and 
withered  body  that  cloaked  me.  The  point  of  con- 
sciousness had  shrunk  within  its  earthly  envelope. 
Soon  it  diffused  itself  throughout  my  members.  Now 
I  could  translate  my  symbols  into  ideas.  That  coiled- 
up  substance  that  blocked  the  door  was  my  tongue, 
fallen  back  into  the  throat.  And  the  spring-board 
on  which  the  swimmer  stood  —  that  was  my  heart, 
waiting  to  beat.  And  unless  and  until  the  swimmer 
—  I  —  made  that  plunge  into  life's  ocean,  it  could 
not.  Slowly  the  need  of  physical  resurrection  urged 
me  onward. 

A  thousand  darts  were  stabbing  in  my  flesh,  like 
purgatorial  fire.  No  motor  nerve  had  yet  awakened, 
but  the  capillaries,  opening,  pricked  me  like  red-hot 
needles.  Faint  memories  of  the  past  flashed  through 
my  mind,  and,  though  I  recalled  no  intervening 
period,  I  was  sensible  that  those  events  had  hap- 
pened infinitely  long  before. 

Suddenly  I  plunged.  I  felt  as  if  a  sword  had 
pierced  my  body.  I  felt  the  waters  of  that  living 
ocean  close  over  my  face,  and  gasped.  I  breathed. 
Simultaneously,  with  a  loud  click,  the  cap  of  the  cyl- 
inder flew  off,  air  rushed  in,  a  stabbing  light  broke 
through  my  closed  eyelids ;  I  fainted. 


32  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

It  was,  of  course,  the  gradual  unscrewing  of  the 
cylinder  cap  as  the  mechanism  ran  down,  and  the 
consequent  admission  of  minute  quantities  of  oxy- 
gen, that  had  begun  to  restore  me.  I  must  have 
passed  several  days  in  semi-consciousness  before  the 
cylinder  opened.  When  the  last  thread  of  the  screw 
was  traversed,  the  inrush  of  air  caused  the  respira- 
tion to  begin. 

I  was  breathing  when  I  became  conscious  once 
more,  and  my  heart  was  straining  in  my  breast.  I 
got  my  eyes  open.  There  followed  hours  of  light- 
tortured  delirium,  during  which  I  struggled  to  regain 
the  motor  powers.  With  infinite  endeavor  I  placed 
one  hand  upon  the  other  and  passed  it  up  the  wrist 
and  forearm.  The  muscles  were  all  gone.  The 
ulna  and  radius  were  perfectly  distinguishable,  and 
I  could  encircle  either  with  my  fingers,  after  I  had 
managed  to  flex  them.  I  noticed  that  my  joints 
creaked  like  rusty  hinges. 

I  tried  to  bend  my  elbows,  and  this  next  grim 
battle  lasted  an  incalculable  time.  Gradually  I  be- 
came aware  of  some  obstacle  on  each  side  of  me. 
Then,  for  the  first  time  since  my  awakening,  I  knew 
that  I  was  inside  the  cylinder.  But  I  did  not  know 
that  it  had  fallen  upon  its  side  until  it  slid  forward, 
and  my  puny  struggles  dislodged  me  and  flung  me 
free  into  a  pool  of  water.  I  drew  in  a  deep  breath, 
feeling  my  lungs  crackle  like  old  parchment,  and 


In  the  Cellar  33 


plunged  my  face  and  shoulders  beneath  the  surface. 
My  skin  sucked  up  the  moisture  like  a  sponge, 
and  I  contrived  to  get  a  few  drops  past  my  swollen 
tongue.  I  had  just  sense  enough  and  time  to 
turn  my  face  upward  before  I  became  imconscious 
again. 

I  must  have  slept  long,  for,  on  my  next  awakening, 
the  light  was  brighter  and  still  more  torturing.  Mem- 
ory began  to  stir.     I  recalled  my  conversation  with 
Sir  Spofforth,  our  journey  into  the  annex,  Lazaroff 's 
invitation  to  me  to  enter  the  cylinder.    He  must  have 
shut  me  in  for  a  moment  by  way  of  a  practical  joke, 
and  gone  away  with  Esther,  persuading  himself  and 
her  that  I  could  free  myself  and  would  follow.     I 
tried  to  call  him.     But  only  a  croaking  gasp  came 
from  my  lips.     I  tried  again  and  again,  gradually 
regaining  the  power  of  vocal  utterance.     But  there 
came  no  answer,  and  each  time  that  I  called,  the 
echoing,  hoarse  susurrus  brought  me  nearer  to  the 
realization  of  some  terror  at  hand  which  I  did  not 
dare  to  face. 

I  looked  about  me.  Beside  me  lay  the  cylinder, 
almost  buried  in  mud.  I  was  still  within  the  secret 
vault,  but  a  part  of  the  brick  partition  had  fallen 
inward  in  such  a  way  as  to  screen  the  few  visible 
inches  of  the  steel  case  that  had  housed  me,  so 
that  nobody  would  have  suspected  its  presence  in 
the  mud  of  the  little  chamber.     I  remembered  that 


34  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

there  had  been  two  more;  I  looked  about  me,  but 
there  was  no  sign  of  them. 

Now  I  began  to  realize  that  there  had  been  a  con- 
siderable change  in  my  surroundings  since  I  became 
unconscious.  The  light  which  had  distressed  me 
came  through  a  hole  in  the  roof  of  the  adjoining 
cellar,  filtering  thence  through  the  aperture  in  the 
broken  wall,  and  was  of  the  dimmest.  In  place  of 
the  concrete  floor  there  was  a  swamp  of  mud,  with 
pools  of  water  here  and  there,  and  the  dirt  was 
heaped  up  in  the  corners  and  against  the  walls. 
Moss  and  splotched  fungi  grew  among  the  tumbled 
bricks,  and  everywhere  were  spore  stains  and  micro- 
scopic plant  growth. 

I  was  bewildered  by  these  signs  of  dilapidation 
everywhere.  The  guinea-pigs  and  monkeys  were 
gone ;  the  cellar  was  empty,  save  for  some  low,  rough 
planks  of  wood  fitted  on  trestles  and  set  about  the 
floor.  On  the  wall  at  the  far  end  hung  something 
that  gradually  took  form  as  I  strained  my  aching 
eyes  to  a  focus. 

It  was  a  crucifix.  The  cellar  had  become  a  sub- 
terranean chapel.  The  cross  was  hewn  coarsely  of 
pine,  and  the  figure  that  hung  upon  it  grotesquely 
carven;  yet  there  was  the  pathos  of  wistful,  ignorant 
effort  in  the  workmanship  that  bespoke  the  sincerity 
of  the  artist. 

I  made  my  difficult  way  upon  hands  and  knees 


I   made  mv  difficult  way  toward  the   stairs 


In  the  Cellar  35 


through  the  gap  in  the  wall,  across  the  mud  floor 
of  the  cellar,  toward  the  stairs,  resting  several 
times  from  weariness  before  I  reached  my  destina- 
tion. But  when  I  arrived  at  the  far  end,  where  the 
stairs  should  have  been,  I  received  a  shock  that 
totally  unnerved  me.  The  stairs  were  gone.  In 
place  of  them  was  a  debris  of  rubble  and  broken 
stones,  as  firmly  set  as  if  workmen  had  built  it  into 
the  wall.  The  mass  must  have  been  there  for  years, 
because,  out  of  the  thin  soil  that  had  drifted  in,  a 
little  oak  tree  sprang,  twisting  its  spindling  stem 
to  rear  its  crown  toward  the  patch  of  daylight. 

At  last  I  understood.  I  had  come  to  realize  the 
fact  that  my  sleep  had  been  a  prolonged  one;  it 
might  have  lasted  weeks  —  even  months,  I  had 
thought,  as  with  cataleptics;  but  an  entire  century! 
that  idea  had  been  too  incredibly  grotesque  for  con- 
sideration. That  Sir  Spofforth,  with  whom,  it 
seemed,  I  had  dined  almost  yesterday,  had  gone, 
ages  ago,  to  his  long  home ;  Lazaroff ;  Esther,  whom 
I  loved;  that  generations  had  come  into  birth  and 
died  ....  it  seemed  too  cruel  a  jest.  I  wept.  I 
raved  and  called  for  Esther.  Surely  a  hundred  years 
had  never  passed,  turning  her  brown  hair  to  gray, 
lining  her  gentle  face,  bringing  at  last  the  gift  of 
death  to  her,  while  I  lay  underground,  encased  in 
steel  and  air ! 

I  cried  aloud  in  terror.     I  hammered  helplessly 


36  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

upon  the  walls.  Again  I  called  Esther,  Lazaroff, 
George.     There  was  no  answer  of  any  kind. 

Presently  a  ray  of  light  quivered  through  the  hole, 
falling  upon  the  heap  of  debris  that  blocked  the  stair- 
way. The  yellow  beam  moved  onward,  and  now  it 
bathed  the  thin  branches  of  the  little  twisted  tree 
that,  by  the  aid  of  those  few  minutes  of  sunlight 
daily,  had  ventured  into  life.  It  had  grown  cun- 
ningly side  wise,  so  as  to  expose  the  maximum  of 
wood  to  the  light.  I  watched  the  ray  till  it  went  out ; 
I  wanted  to  show  the  plant  to  Lazaroff,  to  ask  him 
whether  the  mechanics  of  heliotropism  could  suffice 
to  answer  the  problem  of  the  tree's  brainless  con- 
sciousness ;  and  my  chagrin  that  this  whim  could  not 
be  fulfilled  assumed  an  absurd  significance.  It  was, 
in  fact,  the  realization  of  this  loss  of  responsiveness 
to  the  reality  of  the  situation  that  constantly  urged 
me  to  find  some  way  of  escape  when  I  might  have 
relapsed  otherwise  into  an  acquiescence  which  would 
have  brought  insanity  and  death. 

The  stairs  being  gone,  I  turned  my  consideration 
to  the  cellar  roof.  To  reach  this  it  would  be  neces- 
sary to  drag  one  of  the  planks  beneath  the  hole  and 
scramble  up,  clinging  to  the  sides  with  my  fingers 
and  bracing  my  feet  against  the  wall.  This  feat  was 
not  a  difficult  one  for  a  normal  man,  but  for  me 
clearly  impossible.  J  must  wait  until  I  became 
stronger. 


In  the  Cellar  37 


It  is  a  strange  thing,  but  I  had  not  associated  the 
need  of  waiting  with  the  idea  of  food  until  I  found 
the  box  of  biscuit.  I  stumbled  upon  the  box  by  the 
accident  of  scratching  my  wrist  against  the  edge  as 
I  crawled  along  the  wall.  I  saw  the  corner  project- 
ing from  a  mound  of  earth,  and,  scraping  some  of 
the  dirt  away,  I  lifted  the  pine- wood  lid„ 

Inside  the  box  I  found  a  quantity  of  biscuit  which 
seemed  to  have  been  baked  recently.  It  was  crisp, 
and  too  hard  for  me  to  break.  I  dipped  a  piece  in 
the  stagnant  water,  and,  as  I  swallowed  the  first  mor- 
sels, became  aware  of  my  ravenous  hunger. 

I  can  hardly  estimate  the  duration  of  the  impris- 
onment that  followed.  It  was  of  days  and  nights 
which  succeeded  each  the  other  in  monotonous  suc- 
cession, during  which,  like  a  hibernating  beast,  I 
crouched  and  groped  within  the  cellar,  dozing  and 
shivering,  and  gnawing  incessantly  at  my  food.  Only 
those  few  minutes  of  sunshine  daily  saved  my  reason, 
I  am  convinced  now.  My  evening  clothes,  which 
at  first  had  appeared  to  have  suffered  no  injury  dur- 
ing my  century  of  sleep,  had  begun  to  disintegrate, 
and  hung  upon  me  in  tattered  fragments.  It  was  a 
period  of  despair,  with  very  little  alternating  hope. 
Sometimes  I  prayed  wildly  beneath  the  crucifix, 
sometimes,  in  an  access  of  madness,  I  cried  for 
Esther  and  Lazarofif  again.  And  for  whole  hours  I 
convinced  myself  that  this  was  a  dream. 


38  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

But  my  strength  returned  with  amazing  swift- 
ness. As  in  the  case  of  a  typhoid  convalescent,  every 
particle  of  food  seemed  to  build  up  my  body.  I 
must  have  put  on  pounds  each  day.  The  barrel 
framework  of  my  ribs  filled  out,  the  muscles  showed 
their  old  outlines  beneath  the  skin,  the  fluid  rushed 
into  the  joints  and  restored  their  suppleness.  And 
daily  I  practiced  exercises.  I  managed  to  drag  one 
of  the  benches  beneath  the  hole  at  last,  and,  standing 
on  this,  tried  often  to  draw  myself  up;  but  on  each 
occasion  my  struggles  only  brought  down  a  shower 
of  earth  and  stones,  and  I  resigned  myself  to  a  period 
of  further  waiting,  watching  for  dawn  like  a  troglo- 
dyte, and  for  the  sun  like  a  fire-worshiper. 

In  the  end  my  escape  developed  in  a  manner  the 
least  imaginable.  It  began  with  my  discovery  of  a 
second  box  in  another  of  the  mounds.  I  opened  it 
hastily,  in  the  greedy  anticipation  of  finding  some- 
thing more  palatable  than  biscuit. 

Instead  of  this  I  found  a  number  of  strange  batons 
of  wood.  They  resembled  policemen's  truncheons, 
but  each  had  a  tiny  rounded  plate  of  glass  near  the 
head,  and  there  evidently  was  some  sort  of  mech- 
anism near  the  handle,  for  there  was  a  push-button, 
fitted  with  a  heavy  guard  of  brass,  so  strong  that  I 
could  not  raise  it  with  my  fingers.  It  was  indeed 
providential  that  I  was  unable  to  do  so. 

I  carried  the  strange  implement  beneath  the  hole 


In  the  Cellar  39 


in  the  roof  and  laid  it  on  the  bench,  intending  to 
examine  it  more  carefully  as  soon  as  the  sun  ap- 
peared. Meanwhile,  this  being  the  time  for  my  daily 
exercise,  I  mounted  the  bench  and  tried  to  pull  myself 
up.  I  failed ;  yet  I  detected  a  considerable  improve- 
ment in  my  muscular  power,  and,  becoming  ex- 
hausted, I  prepared  to  descend.  Inadvertently,  but 
without  anticipating  any  serious  result,  I  placed  my 
foot  against  the  truncheon  in  such  a  way  as  to  elevate 
the  guard. 

I  heard  it  click  as  it  rose  into  position,  and,  in 
setting  down  my  foot  again,  depressed  the  push- 
button. 

The  truncheon  tipped  to  the  ground,  pointing 
upward.  I  saw  a  ray  of  blinding  light,  of  intense 
whiteness  tipped  with  mauve,  shoot  from  the  head, 
and,  with  a  crash,  a  shower  of  stones  fell  on  me, 
bearing  me  to  the  ground  and  enveloping  me  in  a 
cloud  of  dust. 

I  must  have  lain  half  stunned  for  some  minutes. 
I  was  aroused  by  feeling  the  sunlight  on  my  eyelids. 
I  started  to  my  feet.  The  hole  in  the  roof  was 
nearly  twice  the  former  size,  and  a  heap  of  fallen 
stones  and  pieces  of  brick  afforded  me  a  perfect 
stepway.  I  was  scratched  by  the  falling  debris,  but 
happily  the  explosion,  as  I  deemed  it,  seemed  to 
have  been  in  an  upward  direction. 

In  a  moment  I  was  scrambling  up  the  stones.    I 


40  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

slipped  and  clutched  and  struggled;  I  got  my  head 
and  shoulders  in  the  air  and  pulled  my  body  after 
me ;  I  trod  upon  leaves ;  I  looked  about  me. 

I  was  standing  in  the  midst  of  what  appeared  to 
be  an  ancient  forest  of  oak  and  beech  trees,  whose 
bare  boughs,  covered  with  snow,  shook  under  a  gray 
sky  above  a  carpet  of  withered,  snow-spread  leaves, 
and  under  these  were  endless  heaps  of  disintegrating 
bricks.  In  vain  I  looked  about  me  for  the  Institute. 
There  was  no  sign  of  it,  nor  of  Sir  Spofforth's 
house.  Nowhere  was  anything  to  be  seen  but  the 
same  forest  growth,  the  dead  leaves  scurrying  before 
the  chill  wind,  and  the  vast  brick  piles.  I  had 
emerged  from  the  cellar  into  a  trackless  wilderness. 

And  now  at  last  my  final  doubt,  which  had  bred 
hope,  was  gone.  I  ran  through  the  forest,  on  and  on, 
shouting  like  a  madman  and  beating  my  breast,  stum- 
bling over  the  brick  heaps  that  lay  everywhere,  plung- 
ing through  thorny  undergrowth,  heedless  of  any 
course.  I  must  have  been  running  for  ten  minutes 
when  my  strength  failed  me,  and  I  collapsed  beside 
an  ancient  road,  overgrown  with  shrubs  and  sap- 
lings, yet  discernible  in  its  course  between  the  tall 
trees  that  bordered  it.  Before  me,  far  away  through 
the  vista  line,  I  saw  a  white  bank  against  the  gray 
horizon. 

I  flung  myself  upon  my  face  and  prayed,  with  all 
my  will,  to  die. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  ROAD  TO  LONDON 

A  SHADOW  swept  over  me,  and,  looking  up,  I 
saw  an  airplane  gliding  noiselessly  above;  it 
stopped,  hung  poised  and  motionless,  and  then 
dropped  slowly  and  almost  vertically  into  the  road, 
coming  to  ground  within  a  dozen  yards  of  where 
I  lay. 

There  stepped  out  a  man  in  a  uniform  of  pale 
blue,  having  insewn  upon  the  breast  a  piece  of  white 
linen,  cut  to  the  shape  of  a  swan.  He  came  toward 
me  with  hesitancy,  and  stood  over  me,  staring  at  me 
and  at  my  clothes  with  an  expression  indicative  of 
the  greatest  bewilderment. 

"Where's  your  brass,  friend?"  he  inquired  after 
a  few  moments,  speaking  in  a  high-pitched,  monoto- 
nous, and  rather  nasal  tone.  He  rubbed  his  smooth- 
shaven  face  in  thought.  "Where's  your  brass?"  he 
repeated. 

I  perceived  that  he  wore  about  his  neck  a  twisted 
cord  whose  ends  were  tied  through  the  loop  of  a 
brass  plate,  stamped  with  letters  and  figures. 

"For  God's  sake  tell  me  what  year  this  is !"  I  cried. 

At  the  profane  expletive,  which  had  been  drawn 
from  me  by  my  anguish,  he  recoiled  in  dismay;  he 

41 


42  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

seemed  less  shocked  than  frightened;  he  glanced 
about  him  quickly,  and  then  cast  a  very  searching 
look  at  me.  But  next  he  began  to  smile  in  a  half- 
humorous,  kindly  way. 

''You're  one  of  the  escaped  defectives,  aren't 
you?"  he  inquired.  ''You  have  nothing  to  fear  from 
me,  friend.  We  airplane  scouts  have  no  love  for  the 
Guard.  You  can  go  on  your  way.  But  where  are 
you  lying  up?    Are  your  friends  near?" 

"Will  you  tell  me  what  year  this  is?"  I  demanded 
frantically. 

"Yap,  certainly,"  he  answered.  "This  is  Thirty- 
seven,  Cold  Solstice  less  five."  He  shook  his  head 
and  began  staring  at  me  again. 

I  laughed  hysterically.  "I  don't  know  what  that 
jargon  means,"  I  answered,  "but  I  went  to  sleep  in 
the  vault  of  the  Biological  Institute  in  the  year  191 5." 

Perplexity  had  succeeded  alarm.  The  airscout 
shook  his  head  again.  He  was  one  of  those  delib- 
erate, slow-moving  men  whose  resolutions,  tardily 
made,  harden  to  inflexibility;  I  recognized  the  type 
and  found  the  individual  pleasing.  He  was  a  good- 
looking  young  fellow  of  about  eight  and  twenty, 
with  straight,  dark  hair  and  a  very  frank  counte- 
nance. He  looked  like  a  sailor,  and  the  rolling,  open 
collar,  which  fell  back,  sailor  fashion,  revealed  a 
muscular  throat,  tanned,  like  his  face,  to  the  color 
of  the  bricks  around  us. 


The  Road  to  London  43 

''I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  you,"  he  said 
thoughtfully.  ''I  don't  want  to  trap  you,  but  you 
were  better  off  in  the  art  factories.  I  don't  know 
what  to  do  with  you." 

I  sprang  to  my  feet,  and  for  an  instant  I  ceased 
to  realize  my  predicament.  "Will  you  take  me  to  my 
friends  in  London  ?"  I  asked.  In  my  mind  was  the 
memory  of  a  university  acquaintance  who  lived  in 
St.  John's  Wood.  But  then  the  swift  remembrance 
came  back  to  me,  and  I  hung  my  head  and  groaned. 

*'Back  to  London!"  exclaimed  the  airscout.  "But 
you'll  be  put  to  the  leather  vats.  Doctor  Sanson  is 
furious,  and  the  police  are  searching  for  you  every- 
where. You're  crazed!  What's  the  sense  of  run- 
ning away  from  painting  pictures  and  going  back 
to  sweat  ten  years  over  the  hides?" 

"Take  me  to  London!"  I  implored.  "I  have  no- 
where to  go.     Perhaps  —  I  don't  know — " 

I  was  hoping  wildly  that  somebody  whom  I  had 
known  might  still  survive.  But  by  this  time  I  was 
beginning  to  pull  myself  together.  I  resolved  to 
wait  for  his  decision. 

"Now,  friend,"  he  said,  as  if  he  had  made  up  his 
mind,  "your  top  got  stuffed  making  those  factory  pic- 
tures, as  was  very  natural.  Now,  I  think  you  had 
better  go  back  to  London,  and  Lll  take  you  there, 
since  your  friends  have  shaken  you.  But  of  course 
it  must  be  the  police  station.     I  can't  risk  my  own 


44  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

liberty.  Once  more,  are  you  sure  you  want  to  go? 
If  not,  I  haven't  seen  you." 

"V\\  go,"  I  answered  indifferently. 

'Tap?    Step  in,  then !" 

I  took  my  seat  beside  him.  It  will  seem  incredible, 
but  I  had  never  ridden  in  an  airplane  before.  In 
my  other  days  only  a  few  had  seen  these  craft.  It 
was  hardly  more  than  six  years  since  the  Wrights 
had  flown  when  my  long  sleep  began.  In  spite  of 
my  oppression  of  mind,  or  perhaps  because  the  days 
of  horror  that  I  had  spent  in  the  cellar  produced  the 
unavoidable  reaction,  I  began  to  feel  the  exhilaration 
of  the  flight  as  we  ascended  to  a  height  of  perhaps  a 
thousand  feet  and  drove  northward.  The  sensation 
was  that  of  sitting  still  and  seeing  the  trees  flit  by 
beneath  me,  and  would  have  been  pleasing  but  for 
the  intense  cold,  which  pierced  through  my  rags  and 
numbed  me.  I  perceived  that  the  airplane  was  under 
perfect  control,  and  could  be  stayed  without  falling. 
After  a  while  I  realized  that  there  was  no  motor. 

My  companion  saw  me  looking  at  the  machine. 
"Improved  solar  type,"  he  said,  patting  her  caress- 
ingly. "Better  than  a  bird,  isn't  she?"  He  turned 
toward  me.  "You've  been  sleeping  in  the  wood 
these  three  days  ?"  he  asked.  "And  find  the  factories 
best?  I  don't  score  you  for  that.  Where's  the  rest 
of  you  ?  Five,  weren't  there  ?  Why  didn't  you  keep 
together?    Where's  that  bishop  of  yours?" 


The  Road  to  London  45 

But,  seeing  that  he  could  elicit  no  comprehensible 
answer  to  his  repeated  questions  —  in  truth,  I  did 
not  know  how  to  reply  —  he  relapsed  into  an  equal 
silence.  And  now  the  white  bank  that  I  had  seen 
on  the  horizon  began  to  assume  crenellations,  which 
in  turn  became  buildings  of  immense  height  and  sym- 
metrical aspect.  And  I  forgot  my  situation  in  ad- 
miration and  amazement  at  the  panorama  that  began 
to  unfold  beneath  us. 

The  county  of  Surrey  appeared  to  be  an  extensive 
forest,  ending  about  a  waste  of  dismantled  brick, 
the  suburbs  of  old  London,  which  extended  on  each 
side  as  far  as  I  could  see.  Then  the  modern  town 
began :  an  outer  ring  of  what  I  took  to  be  enormous 
factories  and  storage  warehouses ;  an  inner  ring,  no 
doubt,  of  residences;  and  then  the  nucleus,  the  most 
splendid  city  that  the  imagination  could  have 
devised. 

London  seemed  to  be  smaller  than  the  metropolis 
of  a  century  ago.  I  could  see  from  the  height  of 
Hampstead,  in  the  north,  to  the  region  of  Dulwich, 
and  from  Woolwich  to  Acton,  all  clearly  defined, 
like  a  great  map  unrolled  beneath  me,  though  I  could 
recognize  none  of  the  old  landmarks,  save  the  un- 
changing Thames.  The  interior  city  was  laid  out 
in  squares,  huge  buildings,  sometimes  enclosing 
interior  courts,  occupying  the  blocks  formed  by  the 
parallel  and  intersecting  streets.     As  we  drove  in- 


46  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

ward  from  the  outskirts,  the  buildings  became 
higher,  but  always  uniformly  so,  the  city  thus  pre- 
senting the  aspect  of  a  succession  of  gigantic  steps, 
until  the  summit,  the  square  mile  comprising  the 
heart,  was  reached. 

This  consisted  of  an  array  of  enormous  edifices, 
with  fronts  perfectly  plain,  and  evidently  constructed 
of  brick- faced  steel- work,  but  all  glistening  a  daz- 
zling white,  which,  even  at  that  height,  made  my  eyes 
water,  and  rising  uniformly  some  forty-five  or  fifty 
stories.  The  flat  roofs  were  occupied  by  gardens 
or  what  I  took  to  be  gymnasia,  sheltered  beneath 
tarpaulins.  I  saw  innumerable  airplanes  at  rest, 
suspended  high  above  the  streets,  while  others  flitted 
here  and  there  above  the  roofs,  and  a  whole  fleet  lay, 
as  if  moored,  some  distance  away,  apparently  over 
the  center  of  the  city,  above  a  singular  building, 
which  awakened  associations  in  my  mind,  though  I 
was  unable  to  name  it. 

It  had  a  round  dome,  being,  in  fact,  the  only 
domed  building  that  I  could  see.  This  covered  only 
the  centra;l  portion  of  the  enormous  architectural 
mass,  and  appeared  to  float  in  the  air  above  an  aerial 
garden,  laid  out  with  walks  that  radiated  from  a  flat 
building,  which  filled  the  space  between  the  floating 
dome  and  the  roof  beneath  it.  I  surmised  that  this 
must  be  the  new  House  of  Parliament.  The  entire 
mass  was  surrounded  by  a  double  wall,  with  a  roofed 


The  Road  to  London  47 

space  of  perhaps  ninety  feet  from  rear  to  front, 
castellated.  Mounted  on  this  were  what  appeared 
to  be  a  number  of  large,  conical-shaped  implements, 
of  great  size.  Long,  graceful  bridges  on  arches 
connected  this  wall  with  the  domed  building; 
and  wall  and  building  glistened  from  top  to  base 
so  brilliantly  that  the  glow  seared  my  eyes  like 
sunlight. 

As  we  were  now  flying  at  a  low  altitude,  I  turned 
my  attention  to  the  streets,  which  appeared  like 
canyons  far  beneath.  Along  these  swarmed  a  mul- 
titude of  travelers,  dressed  in  two  colors  only,  white 
and  blue,  the  latter  vastly  predominating.  I  could 
see  no  vehicles,  and  I  imagined,  what  proved  to  be 
correct,  that  the  streets  themselves  were  moving. 
Most  of  those  journeying  seemed  content  to  lean 
back  against  the  railings,  the  lowest  bars  of  which 
projected,  forming  a  continuous  seat,  and  rest. 
Nearly  all  the  streets  were  traveling  in  the  same 
direction,  those  that  reversed  this  movement  being 
small  and  comparatively  empty.  From  the  presence 
of  what  seemed  to  be  iron  stanchions,  set  along  the 
edges  of  these  moving  ways,  I  surmised  that  they 
were  roofed  with  crystal. 

Along  the  front  of  the  buildings  ran  single  tracks, 
connecting  at  regular  intervals  with  the  streets  be- 
neath by  means  of  elevators,  which  shot  up  and  down 
continuously,  bearing  their  freight.     These  tracks 


48  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

were  placed  above  each  other  at  ten-story  intervals, 
so  that  there  were  three  or  four  rows  of  these  aerial 
streets,  ranging  from  the  ground  to  the  upper  por- 
tions of  the  buildings,  all  filled  with  travelers.  The 
buildings,  each  comprising  an  entire  block,  the  ele- 
vated streets,  with  their  graceful  bridges  flung  forth 
across  the  chasms,  the  absence  of  any  of  the  old  pov- 
erty and  dirt,  and  that  huge  gathering  of  human 
beings,  going  about  their  business  in  so  systematic 
a  fashion,  fascinated  me,  and  even  aroused  my 
enthusiasm. 

Signs  evidently  indicated  to  persons  approaching 
in  airships  the  purpose  of  each  building  and  landing- 
stage,  but  these  were  in  characters  entirely  unintel- 
ligible to  me. 

My  companion  stayed  the  vessel  In  the  air  and 
tapped  me  on  the  arm.  I  started,  to  see  him  regard- 
ing me  with  the  same  expression  of  humorous 
perplexity. 

''I  must  put  you  off  here,  friend,"  he  said.  "I 
think  I  have  done  the  best  I  could  for  you.  You 
would  have  died  in  the  forest,  while  here  —  well, 
there's  a  chance  for  you.  And  it's  better  to  go  to 
the  leather  vats  for  a  few  years  than  to  die  and  go 
nowhere.  I'll  know  you  if  we  meet  again.  What's 
your  name?" 

''Arnold  Pennell,"  I  answered,  clasping  the  hand 
that  he  held  out  to  me. 


The  Road  to  London  49 


He  almost  jumped.  ''Don't  tell  that  to  the  Coun- 
cil, unless  you  want  the  Rest  Cure,"  he  said. 

"Don't  tell  them  my  name?" 

''Not  both  names,  friend.  You  know  what  I 
mean.  If  you  don't  know — "  He  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  "Mine's  Jones,"  he  said.  "My  father's 
was  Williams.  My  grandfather's  was  Jones  again. 
They  say  it's  one  of  our  oldest  names  —  common 
in  the  days  before  civilization.  Now  down  we 
go." 

The  airplane  swooped  down  and  came  to  rest  upon 
the  roof  immediately  beneath  us.  On  this  I  saw  a 
number  of  men,  apparently  practicing  gymnastic 
exercises ;  and  hardly  were  we  at  a  standstill  when 
two  of  them  came  running  up  to  us.  They  were  clad 
in  blue  uniforms  resembling  that  of  the  airscout,  but 
instead  of  a  swan  each  wore  a  shield-shaped  piece  of 
linen  upon  his  back  and  breast. 

"What's  this  ?"  they  demanded  in  a  breath,  point- 
ing at  me  and  bursting  into  bellowing  laughter. 

"One  of  your  defectives,"  answered  Jones.  "I 
found  him  in  the  forest  while  patrolling." 

They  rushed  at  me  and  dragged  me  from  the  air- 
plane, swiftly  patting  me  about  the  body,  as  if  in 
search  of  weapons.  Satisfied  that  I  was  unarmed, 
they  turned  to  the  airscout. 

"You'll  share  the  reward!"  they  cried,  again 
simultaneously. 


50  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

''Keep  it!"  replied  the  airscout  tartly,  and  rose 
into  the  air,  waving  me  a  cordial  good-bye. 

They  rushed  me  across  the  roof  through  a  crowd 
of  other  men,  similarly  clad,  down  an  elevator,  and 
into  the  street.  They  dragged  me  upon  one  of  the 
moving  platforms  and  conveyed  me  a  short  distance, 
descending  at  the  entrance  to  one  of  the  innumerable 
shining  buildings,  over  which  was  inscribed  some- 
thing in  the  same  undecipherable  letters. 

But,  quickly  as  we  had  gone,  the  report  of  my 
arrest  seemed  to  have  preceded  us,  for  our  way  was 
blocked  by  a  vast  and  constantly  increasing  crowd, 
that  came  running  up  with  lively  and  shameless 
curiosity,  and,  attracted  by  my  rags,  I  suppose, 
pressed  closely  about  us  and  uttered  hoots  of  laugh- 
ter. I  heard  the  word  "defective"  bandied  from 
mouth  to  mouth. 

I  looked  at  these  people  attentively.  There  were 
both  men  and  women  present,  all  wearing  clothing 
of  the  same  pale  blue  color,  which  seemed  to  be  pre- 
scribed, although  the  cut  of  each  garment  was  to 
some  extent  individual.  In  effect,  the  men  wore  sack 
suits  of  a  coarsely  woven  woolen  material,  with  short, 
loose  trousers  fastened  with  laces  about  the  ankles, 
and  square-cut  coats  having  wide  lapels  extending  to 
a  broad,  turned-back  collar  that  fell  over  the  shoul- 
ders like  a  sailor's,  revealing  a  neckpiece  of  blue 
linen.    The  women's  short  skirts  reached  to  the  tops 


I    glanced    from    one    to    another,    and   metii 

sneerinl 


ird,    mirthless    eyes,    and    mouths    twisted    in 
nockery 


The  Road  to  London  51 

of  their  high  boots,  and  the  fashion  seemed  to  run 
to  large  buttons  and  loose  sleeves.  They  wore  no 
hats.  Upon  the  breast,  near  the  shoulder,  each  per- 
son wore  a  small  linen  badge,  indicative  of  his 
occupation. 

What  disconcerted  me  was  the  shrewd,  mocking 
smile  upon  each  face.  I  glanced  from  one  to  another, 
seeking  to  find  something  of  the  same  friendly  inter- 
est that  animated  me,  and  met  hard,  mirthless  eyes, 
and  mouths  twisted  in  sneering  mockery. 

Another  thing  that  startled  and  almost  terrified 
me  was  the  absence  of  a  certain  conventionality  of 
restraint  that  had  ruled  everybody  in  that  other 
world  of  mine.  For  instance,  among  those  gibing 
at  me  was  a  gray -bearded  man  who  danced  before 
me  like  a  small  urchin.  Another  made  an  expressive 
pantomime  of  death.  A  girl  stuck  out  her  tongue  at 
me.  I  remembered  the  plaint,  that  never  since  the 
glorious  age  of  Greece  had  the  code  of  public  moral- 
ity coincided  with  that  privately  held.  This  we  all 
knew ;  the  statesman  in  parliament  was  not  on  bow- 
ing terms  with  the  same  statesman  in  the  smoking- 
room.  Some  said  it  was  Christianity,  others  respec- 
tability that  bound  us  in  this  organic  hypocrisy ;  but 
now  the  two  codes  seemed  to  have  coalesced.  A 
grandfather  grimaced  at  me;  a  gray-haired  woman 
put  out  her  foot  to  trip  me;  if  there  had  been  stones 
I  think  they  would  have  flung  them  at  me.     But 


52  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

suddenly  a  youngish  lad  in  white  appeared,  and  the 
crowd,  hastening  to  make  a  path  for  him,  shrank 
back  with  servile  demeanor.  Taking  advantage  of 
this,  my  captors,  linking  their  arms  in  mine,  made  a 
rush  forward,  scattering  the  mob  right  and  left,  and 
bore  me  through  a  swinging  door  into  a  small  ro- 
tunda, in  which  a  number  of  other  policemen  were 
seated  with  their  blue-clad  prisoners. 


CHAPTER  V 

London's  welcome 

TNSIDE  the  rotunda  a  burly  man  in  blue,  with  the 
white  shield  on  his  breast,  was  standing  on  guard 
in  front  of  a  second  swinging  door,  above  which 
was  painted  something  in  the  same  strange  charac- 
ters. A  few  words  to  him  from  my  captors  appar- 
ently secured  us  precedence,  for  he  stared  at  me  curi- 
ously, opened  the  door,  and  bawled  to  some  person 
inside.  I  was  pushed  into  a  large  courtroom.  It 
contained  no  seats,  however,  for  spectators  or  wit- 
nesses. The  only  occupants  were  the  magistrate 
and  his  clerk,  and  a  group  of  policemen  who  lounged 
at  one  end  of  the  room,  joking  among  themselves. 
The  clerk,  a  little,  obsequious  man  in  blue,  was  seated 
at  a  desk  immediately  opposite  that  of  his  chief,  a 
pompous,  surly  fellow  in  white,  wearing  about  his 
shoulders  a  lusterless  black  cape,  which  seemed  to 
be  a  truncation  of  the  old  legal  gown.  Placing  me 
on  a  platform  near  the  clerk's  desk,  the  two  police- 
men who  were  in  charge  of  me  stepped  forward  and 
began  an  explanation  in  low  tones  which  was  not 
meant  to  meet  my  ears,  and  did  not. 

The  magistrate  started  nervously,  and,  putting  his 
hand  beneath  his  desk,  pulled  up  a  truncheon  similar 

53 


54  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

to  those  that  I  had  seen  in  the  cellar.  He  handled 
this  nervously  during  our  interview. 

"Well,  what  have  you  to  say,  you  filthy  defec- 
tive ?"  he  shouted  at  me,  when  the  police  had  ended. 

I  heard  a  suppressed  chuckle  behind  me,  and  then 
became  aware  that  all  the  police  had  gathered  about 
me,  convulsed  with  amusement  at  my  rags. 

''Stand  back,  you  swine !"  bellowed  the  magistrate. 
''Give  me  the  Escaped  Defectives  Book,"  he  added, 
to  his  clerk. 

The  clerk  handed  up  to  him  a  small  publication 
which  I  could  see  contained  numerous  miniature 
photographs  in  color.  He  began  studying  it,  look- 
ing up  at  me  from  time  to  time.  Occasionally,  at 
his  nod,  one  of  the  policemen  would  seize  my  face 
and  push  it  into  profile.  At  last  the  magistrate  thrust 
the  book  away  petulantly. 

"This  isn't  one  of  them,"  he  announced  to  the 
policemen.  "Who  are  you?"  he  continued,  glaring 
at  me.  "You're  not  on  the  defectives'  list.  Where 
do  you  come  from?  Tell  the  truth  or  I'll  commit 
you  to  the  leathers.  Why  are  you  in  masquerade? 
Where's  your  brass  ?  Your  print  ?  Your  number  ? 
Your  district?" 

The  clerk  wagged  his  middle  finger  at  me  and, 
drawing  a  printed  form  from  a  pile,  pushed  it  toward 
me.  I  took  it,  but  I  could  make  nothing  of  it,  for 
it  was  in  the  same  unknown  characters. 


London's  Welcome  55 

"I  can  only  read  the  old-fashioned  alphabet,"  I 
said. 

The  room  echoed  with  the  universal  laughter. 
The  magistrate  almost  jumped  out  of  his  chair. 

"What!"  he  yelled.  ^'You're  lying!  You  know 
you  are.  You  have  an  accent.  You're  from  another 
province.     What's  your  game?" 

The  clerk,  ignoring  his  superior's  outburst,  pulled 
back  the  form,  and,  taking  in  his  hand  a  sort  of 
fountain  pen,  began  to  fill  it  in  with  a  black  fluid  that 
dried  the  instant  it  touched  the  paper. 

"Number,  district,  province,  city,  print,  and 
brass?"  he  inquired.  He  paused  and  looked  up  at 
me.  "Brach  or  dolicoph  ?  Whorl,  loop,  or  median  ? 
Facial,  cephalic,  and  color  indexes?  Your  Sanson 
test?    Your  Binet  rating?" 

But,  since  I  made  no  attempt  to  answer  these  ut- 
terly baffling  questions,  the  clerk  ceased  to  ply  me 
with  them  and  looked  up  at  the  magistrate  for  in- 
structions. The  magistrate,  who  had  been  leaning 
forward,  watching  me  attentively,  now  smiled  as  if 
he  had  suddenly  grasped  the  situation. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  you  are,"  he  said,  shaking  his 
finger  at  me.  "You're  a  Spanish  spy,  masquerading 
as  a  defective  in  order  to  get  into  the  workshops  and 
corrupt  the  defectives  there." 

"Now  I  should  call  him  a  Slav,"  said  the  clerk 
complacently.     "He's  a  brach,  you  see,  Boss.    And 


56  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

that  makes  his  offense  a  capital  one,"  he  added  com- 
placently. 

*Tut  him  up  for  the  Council,  then,"  growled  the 
magistrate.  "Standardize  him,"  he  added  to  the 
policemen,  "and  commit  him  to  the  Strangers'  House 
pending  the  Council's  ascription." 

My  captors  hurried  me  away.  In  the  street  a  large 
crowd,  which  had  assembled  to  see  me  emerge, 
greeted  me  with  noisy  hooting.  And,  looking  again 
into  these  hard  faces,  I  began  to  realize  that  some 
portentous  change  had  come  over  mankind  since  my 
long  sleep,  whose  nature  I  did  not  understand;  but, 
whatever  it  was,  it  had  not  made  men  better. 

However,  the  moving  platform  quickly  carried  us 
away,  and  the  mob  dwindled,  so  that  when  we 
reached  our  destination  only  a  nucleus  remained. 
This,  however,  followed  me  persistently,  gathering 
to  itself  other  idlers,  who  ran  beside  me,  peering  up 
into  my  face,  and  fingering  my  tattered  clothes,  and 
pulling  at  the  tails  of  my  coat  in  half-infantile  and 
half-simian  curiosity. 

The  building  which  we  entered  contained  a  single 
large  room  on  the  ground  floor,  with  desks  ranged 
around  the  walls.  Behind  each  desk  a  clerk  in  blue 
was  seated,  either  contemplating  the  scene  before 
him  or  listening  disdainfully  to  applications.  I  was 
taken  to  a  desk  near  the  door.  One  of  the  policemen 
now  left  me,  and  the  other,  who  had  contrived. 


London's  Welcome  57 

without  my  knowledge,  to  possess  himself  of  the 
gold  watch  that  had  been  in  my  pocket  for  the  last 
century,  placed  it  upon  the  desk  before  the  clerk, 
who  came  back  slowly  and  resentfully  from  a  fit  of 
abstraction. 

''Committed  stranger?"  he  inquired. 

"Yap,"  said  the  policeman.     ''He  had  this." 

The  clerk  stared  at  the  watch,  raised  it,  and  let  it 
fall  on  its  face.  The  glass  splintered,  and  he  jumped 
in  his  seat  as  if  a  pistol  had  been  discharged. 

"What  is  it?"  he  screamed. 

"It  looks  like  an  antique  chronometer,"  said  the 
policeman,  examining  it  curiously.  "See  the  twelve 
hours  on  the  dial." 

"Well,  they  aren't  listed,"  the  clerk  grumbled. 

"You  lie,  you  thief,"  retorted  the  policeman. 

With  some  reluctance,  but  without  resentment, 
the  clerk  opened  a  large  book  in  a  paper  cover, 
closely  printed  in  fine  hieroglyphics  interspersed  with 
figures.  He  turned  from  place  to  place  until  he 
found  what  he  was  trying  not  to  find. 

"Museum  chronometers,  first  century  b.c.  Listed 
at  two  hektones,"  he  mumbled,  and  began  unlocking 
a  drawer. 

"B.  C. !"  I  exclaimed.     "What  do  you  mean?" 

He  paused  in  the  act  of  pulling  the  drawer  out 
and  glared  at  me. 

"I  said  'museum  chronometer  of  the  first  century 


58  The  MessiaJi  of  the  Cylinder 

before  civilization/  you  fool!"  he  snarled.  ''That's 
what  it  is,  and  that's  what  it's  hsted  at.     Here!" 

Extracting  some  metal  counters  from  the  drawer, 
which  he  closed  with  a  bang,  he  thrust  them  toward 
me. 

"What  am  I  to  do  with  these?"  I  asked. 

The  policeman  winked  at  him,  and  I  caught  the 
word  "Spain."  The  clerk's  amazement  changed  to 
malignant  mirth. 

"The  value  of  your  chronometer,"  he  screamed  in 
my  ear,  as  if  I  were  deaf. 

"But  I  don't  intend  to  sell  it,"  I  retorted. 

A  shriek  of  laughter  at  my  side  apprised  me  that 
the  crowd  had  gathered  about  me.  The  space  about 
the  desk  was  packed  with  the  same  sneering,  mirth- 
less faces,  and  fifty  hands  were  raised  in  mimicry  or 
gesticulation. 

"What  a  barbarian !"  murmured  a  young  woman 
with  a  typewriter  badge  on  her  shoulder. 

The  clerk  looked  at  her  and  winked  maliciously. 
Then  he  addressed  me  again. 

"If  you  don't  understand  now,  you  will  before  the 
Council  ends  ascribing  you,"  he  said.  "However, 
I'll  explain.  Your  museum  chronometer,  not  being 
an  object  of  necessity,  is  the  property  of  this  Prov- 
ince. This  is  a  civilized  country,  and  you  can't  have 
hoard-property  here,  whatever  you  can  do  in  Spain. 
Strangers'  effects  are  bought  by  the  Province  at  their 


London's  Welcome  59 

listed  value,  and  your  chronometer  is  listed  at  two 
hundred  labor  units,  or  ones  —  in  other  words,  if 
you  have  ever  heard  of  the  metric  system,  two 
hektones." 

"Ah,  give  him  the  Rest  Cure!"  said  the  girl  with 
the  typewriter  badge,  swinging  about  and  stalking 
away  contemptuously. 

I  picked  up  the  metal  counters  and  began  exam- 
ining them.  They  were  crudely  made,  and  without 
milled  edges.  Two  of  them  appeared  to  be  of  alumi- 
num; on  one  side  was  an  ant  in  relief,  and  under  it 
the  inscription, 

LABOR  COMMON 
37 
on  the  other  side,  in  bold  letters,  were  the  words, 

HALF  HEKTONE 
FIFTY  ONES 

There  were  two  smaller  pieces,  of  a  yellowish-gray, 
each  stamped, 

TWENTY-FIVE  ONES 

It  did  not  take  me  more  than  a  moment's  calcula- 
tion to  see  that  if  the  hektone  was  a  hundred  units 
of  currency,  or  labor  hours,  I  had  only  a  hektone  and 
a  half  instead  of  two.  I  told  the  clerk  of  the 
deficiency. 


60  The  Messiah  of  tJie  Cylinder 

"Don't  lie!  Sign  that!"  he  shouted,  pushing  an 
inkpad  and  printed  form  toward  me. 

*'I  shall  not  sign,  and  I  shall  bring  this  theft  to 
the  attention  of  —  Doctor  Sanson,"  I  said,  suddenly 
recollecting  the  name. 

It  was  a  chance  shot,  but  its  effect  was  extraordi- 
nary. The  mob,  which  had  begun  to  jostle  me,  sud- 
denly scurried  away  in  the  greatest  confusion.  The 
clerk  turned  white;  he  picked  up  the  money  with 
trembling  fingers. 

*'Why,  that  is  so !"  he  exclaimed.  *Tt  was  a  mis- 
take. Boss.  I  didn't  mean  it.  I'm  sorry.  I  —  I 
thought  you  were  a  blue,"  he  muttered,  looking  up 
at  me  beseechingly.  And  he  returned  me  a  whole 
half-hektone  too  much. 

I  tossed  this  back  to  him  and  returned  no  answer. 
I  was  looking  about  for  a  pen  with  which  to  sign  the 
receipt  when  the  policeman  took  hold  of  my  thumb 
in  a  comically  obsequious  manner  and  pressed  the 
inkpad  against  it.  So  I  made  my  mark  upon  the 
paper. 

In  the  corridor  outside  he  turned  toward  me 
humbly. 

"Are  you  a  trapper,  Boss?"  he  asked. 

"A  what?" 

"A  switch.     A  wipe.     I  mean  a  council  watcher." 

"A  spy,  you  mean?"  I  asked.    "Certainly  not." 

He  shook  his  head  in  perplexity,  and  seemed  un- 


London's  Welcome  61 

certain  whether  to  believe  me  or  not.  "He  thought 
you  were,"  he  said.  ''That  was  an  old  list  he  used. 
You  should  have  had  more.  Of  course  I  couldn't 
get  in  bad  with  him  by  telling  you,  but  you'd  have 
had  nothing  if  I  hadn't  stood  up  for  you.  Isn't  that 
worth  something,  Boss?" 

I  offered  him  one  of  the  smaller  pieces,  rather  in 
fear  of  giving  offense,  but  he  pocketed  it  at  once, 
and  then,  with  a  new  aggressiveness  toward  the 
gathering  crowd,  took  me  upstairs  to  the  Strangers' 
Bureau.    Here  I  was  stripped  and  examined  by  two 
physicians,  and  photographed  in  three  positions ;  my 
finger  prints   were  taken,   and  the  three   indexes. 
Then  a  dapper  little  clerk  in  blue  passed  a  tape  meas- 
ure in  several  ways  about  my  head  and  beckoned  to 
me  mysteriously  to  come  to  his  desk. 
'Tt's  too  bad,"  he  exclaimed. 
"What  is  too  bad?"  I  inquired. 
"The  difference  is  five  centimeters,  and  —  well, 
I'm  afraid  you're  a  brach.     I'd  like  to  help  you  out, 
but  —  well,  if  I  can — " 

The  meaning  of  the  word  suddenly  revealed  itself 
to  me.  "You  mean  my  head  is  brachycephalic  ?"  I 
asked. 

"There  is,  unfortunately,  no  doubt,"  he  answered, 
and,  coming  closer  under  the  pretense  of  measuring 
me  again,  began  to  whisper.  "You  know,  the  meas- 
ure is  flexible,"  he  said,  glancing  furtively  about  him. 


62  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

"The  revising  clerk  passes  all  my  measurements 
without  referring  back  to  the  doctors.  There's  an 
understanding  between  us.  Now  I  could  get  you 
into  the  dolicoph  class — " 

"The  longheads?" 

"Yes,"  he  murmured,  looking  at  me  with  an  ex- 
pression of  mutual  understanding. 

"But  what  advantage  would  that  be  to  me?"  I 
inquired. 

"They  say,"  he  whispered,  "that  the  Council  is 
going  to  penalize  the  brachs  several  points.  It  is 
Doctor  Sanson's  new  theory,  you  know,  that  the 
brachs  are  more  defective  than  the  dolicophs.  Now 
I'd  risk  making  you  a  dolicoph  for  —  would  it  be 
worth  a  hektone  to  you  ?" 

I  flushed  with  indignation.  "Do  you  suppose  I 
am  going  to  bribe  you —  ?"  I  began  loudly. 

The  clerk  leaped  back.  "This  subject  is  a  brach !" 
he  yelled,  and  gave  the  figures  to  a  clerk  at  the  next 
desk,  who  made  a  note  on  a  form  and  looked  at  me 
with  intense  disgust. 

So  I  was  set  down  as  broad-headed.  Then  I  was 
made  to  sit  before  a  Binet  board,  containing  wooden 
blocks  of  various  shapes,  which  had  to  be  set  in  corre- 
sponding holes  within  a  period  timed  on  a  stop- 
watch. Word  associations  followed,  a  childish  game 
at  which  I  had  played  during  the  course  of  my  medi- 
cal training;  we  had  regarded  this  as  one  of  those 


London's  Welcome  63 

transitory  fads  born  in  Germany  and  conveyed  to  us 
through  the  American  medium,  which  came  and 
went  and  left  no  by-products  except  a  Httle  wasted 
enthusiasm  on  the  part  of  our  younger  men.  I 
accomplished  both  tasks  easily,  and  I  thought  the 
physicians  seemed  disappointed. 

Finally  I  received  a  suit  of  bluish-gray  color,  the 
strangers'  uniform,  I  was  informed,  and  a  pair  of 
high,  soft  shoes.  A  metal  badge,  stamped  with 
letters  and  figures,  was  hung  about  my  neck  by  a 
cord,  and  I  was  turned  over  to  the  charge  of  a  blue- 
clad,  grizzled  man  of  shortish  stature,  with  a  kindly 
look  in  the  eyes  that  strongly  affected  me.  For  I 
realized  by  now  that  all  these  persons  about  me,  all 
whom  I  had  seen,  with  whom  I  had  conversed,  had 
lacked  something  more  than  good-will;  they  gave 
me  the  impression  of  being  animated  machines,  res- 
ervoirs of  intense  energy,  and  yet  not  ....  what? 
I  could  not  determine  them. 

There  was  a  patient  humility  about  his  bearing, 
and  yet,  I  fancied,  a  sort  of  stubborn  power,  a  con- 
sciousness of  some  secret  strength  that  radiated 
from  him. 

He  came  up  to  me  after  conversing  with  the  doc- 
tors, blue-clad  men  with  white  capes  about  their 
shoulders,  all  of  whom  had  eyed  me  curiously  dur- 
ing their  speech  with  him. 

"I  am  the  District  Strangers'  Guard,"  he  said 


64  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

to  me.  "You  are  a  foreigner,  I  understand,  and 
waiting  to  be  ascribed  by  the  Council.  It  is  not 
necessary  to  make  any  explanation  to  me.  I  am  the 
guard,  and  nothing  more,  and  it  is  my  task  to  pro- 
vide you  with  food  and  lodging  in  the  Strangers' 
House  until  you  are  sent  for,  S6  1845." 

"I  beg  your  pardon?"  I  asked,  before  I  realized 
that  he  was  addressing  me  by  the  number  on  the 
brass  badge  that  hung  from  my  neck. 

*'My  pardon?"  he  answered,  looking  at  me  with 
a  puzzled  expression.  "That  is  an  antique  word, 
is  it  not?" 

"I  mean,  I  did  not  know  the  significance  of  these 
numbers,"  I  replied. 

"Your  brass,"  he  said,  still  more  bewildered. 
"That  is,  of  course,  your  temporary  number  until 
the  Council  assigns  you  to  your  proper  place  in  the 
community.  It  means,  as  you  must  be  aware. 
Stranger  of  the  Sixth  District.  My  unofficial  name 
is  David.     What  is  yours,  friend?" 

He  almost  jumped  when  I  told  him,  and  glanced 
nervously  about  him.  We  had  just  passed  through 
the  doorway,  and  he  drew  me  to  one  side,  looking 
at  me  in  a  most  peculiar  manner. 

"You  must  know  only  one  name  is  legal  in  this 
Province,"  he  whispered.  "Surely  you  will  not  haz- 
ard everything  by  such  bravado.     I  mean  —  " 

He  checked  himself  and  searched  my  eyes,  as  if 


London's  JVelcome  65 

he  could  not  understand  whether  my  ignorance  was 
assumed  or  real. 

''Arnold,"  he  said  suddenly,  as  if  he  had  reached 
a  swift  and  hazardous  decision,  ''you  are  to  be  my 
private  guest.  If  you  are  assuming  ignorance  for 
safety,  you  shall  learn  that  there  is  nothing  to  fear 
from  me.  And  when  you  trust  me,  you  shall  give 
me  the  news  of  Paul  and  all  our  friends.  If  you 
are  actually  a  Spaniard  —  no,  tell  me  nothing — it  is 
essential  that  you  should  learn  what  all  our  inmates 
know,  before  you  go  to  the  Council.  Doctor  Sanson 
is  not  tolerant  of  strangers  unless  they  learn  to  con- 
form ....  I  shall  help  you  in  every  way  that  is 
possible.  The  Bureau  Head  has  asked  me  to  watch 
you  carefully.  It  is  a  special  order  from  headquar- 
ters. There  is  some  rumor  about  you  ....  but  it 
will  be  all  right  in  my  own  apartment." 

I  felt  too  heartbroken  more  than  to  thank  him 
briefly.  The  sense  of  my  isolation  in  this  new  world 
swept  over  me  with  poignant  power.  David  must 
have  guessed  something  of  my  feeling,  for  he  said 
nothing  more.  We  halted  for  a  moment  at  the  en- 
trance to  the  building,  and  he  pulled  a  watch  from 
his  pocket.  I  saw  that  the  dial,  which  was  not  faced 
with  glass,  and  had  the  hands  inset,  was  divided  into 
ten  main  sections,  each  comprising  ten  smaller  ones. 

"Ten  hours  and  seventy- four,"  he  said.  "We  dine 
at  one-fifty.     Seventy-six  minutes  to  get  home." 


CHAPTER  VI 

TH^  strangers'    house 

TOURING  my  brief  journeys  through  the  streets 
^"^  earlier  in  the  day  I  had  been  too  conscious  of 
my  surprise  and  perplexity  to  examine  my  surround- 
ings with  any  concentration  of  mind.  Now,  stand- 
ing on  the  middle  platform  of  what  seemed  to  be  one 
of  the  principal  streets  and  traveled  at  a  speed  of 
about  eight  miles  an  hour,  I  looked  about  me  with 
increasing  astonishment.  I  do  not  know  which  at- 
tracted my  attention  more,  the  crowds  or  the  build- 
ings. I  asked  David  for  information  as  we  pro- 
ceeded, stating  that  I  was  unable  to  read  the  signs, 
as  I  was  acquainted  only  with  the  old  alphabet.  See- 
ing his  incredulity,  I  added : 

"When  you  are  willing,  I  shall  be  glad  to  tell  you 
my  history,  though  I  shall  hardly  hope  to  be  believed. 
For  the  present,  let  me  say  that  I  know  nothing  at 
all  of  your  modern  civilization." 

"But  surely  in  Russia  — "  David  began,  and 
checked  himself.  Thereafter  he  seemed  to  admit 
the  possibility  that  I  was  not  disserribling,  and  to 
consider  me  as  a  bona  fide  traveler  from  some  inte- 
rior Russian  province. 

"Our  writing  is  syllabic,"  he  said.     "We  have 

66 


The  Strangers'  House  67 

gone  the  round  of  the  circle  and  now  make  the  syl- 
lable the  unit  instead  of  the  letter,  as  the  Assyrians 
did,  and  the  Chinese." 

"And  what  is  the  purpose  of  this  blue  paint  on  the 
buildings?"  I  asked,  shielding  my  eyes  from  the  daz- 
zling, blue-white  luster. 

"Blue?"  repeated  David  in  surprise. 

"There  —  and  there." 

"Why,  that  is  glow,  of  course,"  he  answered. 
"Surely  you  are  not  color-blind,  Arnold?  Or  can 
it  be  that  in  —  where  you  came  from  they  have  only 
the  old  seven  colors  in  the  spectrum  ?" 

"From  red  to  violet." 

He  shook  his  head  and  looked  at  me  whimsically. 
"We  have  had  nine  for  at  least  twenty  years,"  he 
said.  "Mull,  below  red,  and  glow,  above  violet; 
what  our  ancestors  called  ultra-violet  and  believed 
to  be  invisible,  though  it  was  staring  them  in  the  face 
everywhere  all  the  time.  There  used  to  be  a  theory 
that  the  color  sense  has  developed  with  civilization. 
Don't  make  any  reference  to  that  color-blindness  of 
yours,  Arnold,"  he  continued,  after  a  brief  pause. 

It  occurred  to  me  that  he  had  not  explained  the 
choice  of  this  color,  though  he  had  named  it. 

"Here  is  the  Bureau  of  Statistics,"  he  went  on, 
as  we  traveled  past  another  of  the  interminable  build- 
ings. "This  is  the  Bureau  of  Prints  and  Indexes; 
there   are  more  than  a  thousand   million   records 


68  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

within.  This  is  the  Bureau  of  Economics;  this 
of  Pedigrees  and  Relationships;  this  of  Defective 
Germ-Plasm;  and  this  is  our  Sixth  District  School." 

The  streets  were  scrupulously  clean ;  they  occupied 
only  the  central  part  of  the  space  between  the  fronts 
of  the  buildings,  that  which  would  have  been  called 
the  pavement  formerly,  being  used  as  resting  and 
lounging  places. 

''Here  is  our  district  store,"  he  added.  ''Would 
you  like  to  look  inside?" 

I  assented,  and  we  stepped  off  the  moving  portion 
of  the  street  into  an  open  space  surrounded  by  tele- 
phone funnels,  at  which  small  groups  of  men  and 
women  were  listening.  As  he  halted,  a  loud  voice 
began  calling: 

"Latest  news!  Rain  is  expected.  Don't  forget 
Freedom  Day !  Muster  for  your  amusement  in  Pic- 
nic Park,  or  the  Council  will  make  it  hot  for  you! 
The  escaped  defectives  all  caught  and  sent  to  the 
leathers.  A  foreign  spy  captured  this  morning  after 
a  desperate  resistance  and  now  under  guard.  The 
miserable  defective  has  confessed,  involving  numer- 
ous others.  He  is  a  low-class  brach  and  a  filthy 
degenerate.  Boss  Lembken  is  on  the  job.  Praise 
him!" 

"Hurrah!"  shouted  the  mob. 

"Come,"  said  David,  plucking  me  by  the  sleeve. 

It  was  only  then  I  realized  that  the  reference  was 


The  Strangers'  House  6^ 

to  me.  I  must  have  uttered  an  indignant  exclama- 
tion, for  he  drew  me  away  hurriedly. 

''Hush!  You  must  keep  your  tongue  guarded  in 
public,"  he  whispered.  "One  can  hear  at  both  ends 
of  the  telephone." 

"But  it  is  a  lie!"  I  said  indignantly.  "Who  can 
spread  such  news  as  that,  and  why?" 

I  noticed  that  one  or  two  people  were  watching 
me  curiously.  Then,  glancing  up,  I  was  amazed  to 
see  my  face  outlined  upon  a  screen  beneath  a 
hood  that  formed  a  dark  circle  around  it.  It  was 
an  execrable  caricature,  designed  to  arouse  hate 
and  contempt;  and  yet  the  likeness  was  plainly 
discernible. 

Somehow  David  got  me  away.  "It  will  be  all 
right,"  he  kept  repeating,  "It  doesn't  mean  any- 
thing.   See,  here  is  our  store." 

Bewildered,  I  allowed  him  to  lead  me  toward  the 
entrance  of  a  large  building,  before  which  a  woman 
sat  within  a  cage  of  crystal. 

"Change  pieces !"  she  cried  at  intervals,  in  a  high- 
pitched  voice.     "Change  pieces  or  show  brasses  I" 

"We  change  our  money  here,"  David  explained. 
"Purchases  of  more  than  half  a  hektone  are  made  on 
the  credit  system.  Our  brasses  are  identification 
checks.  The  district  clearing-house  keeps  the  com- 
plete record  of  each  citizen's  financial  status." 

I  had  expected  to  see  all  the  products  of  the  world 


70  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

spread  out  within.  I  found,  instead,  only  a  single 
sample  of  each  kind  of  merchandise,  the  goods  them- 
selves being  stored  in  warehouses.  Seeing  an  excel- 
lent blue  overcoat  of  fine  cheviot,  I  paid  thirty  ones 
for  it,  and  David  ordered  a  similar  coat  to  be  sent  to 
me  at  the  Strangers'  House. 

''Watch  the  street!"  he  said,  as  we  emerged. 

I  perceived  the  passengers  scrambling  off  the  mov- 
ing portion  of  the  roadway.  A  moment  later  the 
track  began  to  travel  in  the  opposite  direction. 

"We  reverse  our  streets  according  to  the  stream 
of  travel,"  said  David.  "The  mechanism  is  con- 
trolled by  solar  power,  transmitted  from  the 
'  osges. 

We  journeyed  for  some  fi\Q^  and  twenty  minutes 
by  the  new  reckoning  —  what  would  have  been  a 
quarter  of  an  hour.  We  changed  streets  frequently, 
and  it  seemed  to  me,  although  I  could  not  be  sure 
of  it,  that  David  purposely  selected  a  roundabout 
route.  At  length,  we  stopped  in  front  of  a  large 
building  of  the  uniform  height  and  style.  Upon  the 
front  was  sculptured  a  man  in  a  laborer's  blouse  with 
a  protecting  hand  laid  upon  the  head  of  one  who 
cowered  before  him  —  presumably  the  stranger. 

"I  shall  take  you  in  by  the  basement  and  internal 
elevator,"  said  David,  "so  as  to  give  you  a  glimpse 
of  our  traffic  system." 

We  had  passed  numbers  of  subway  entrances,  with 


The  Strangers'  House  71 


gentle  ramps  descending  into  clean,  white-walled 
passages,  along  which  I  had  seen  an  endless  series  of 
trucks  proceeding  on  single  rails.  Beneath  the 
Strangers'  House  I  saw  the  termination  of  a  branch 
line;  and,  as  we  stood  watching,  a  porter  in  blue 
seized  a  small  truck  which  had  detached  itself  from 
the  rail,  and,  with  a  slight  push,  sent  it  spinning  into 
a  goods  elevator. 

''Gyroscopic  action,"  explained  David.  **Above 
this  is  the  House  kitchen,  connecting  with  the  district 
sub-kitchen  by  means  of  a  two- foot  tube." 

And  every  now  and  then  he  would  stop  in  the 
midst  of  his  explanations  and  cast  that  searching 
look  at  me,  as  if  to  inquire  whether  I  could  be  igno- 
rant of  all  this. 

We  stepped  into  an  elevator,  David  pressed  a 
button,  and  the  cage  shot  up  to  the  top  story.  Oppo- 
site us  was  a  door  with  a  bell  at  the  side,  as  in  the 
old-fashioned  apartment.  David  rang,  and  the  door 
opened,  revealing  a  girl  about  eighteen  years  of  age, 
who  looked  at  me  with  parted  lips  and  an  expression 
that  was  unmistakably  fear. 

''Arnold,  this  is  my  daughter  Elizabeth,"  said 
David,  kissing  her.  "Arnold  is  under  our  special 
care,"  he  continued.  "He  comes  from  a  very  distant 
city  outside  the  Federation,  and  is  waiting  to  be 
ascribed.  He  knows  no  more  about  civilization  than 
if  he  had  just  awakened  after  a  sleep  of  a  century." 


72  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

The  girl  shot  a  quick,  dubious,  searching  glance 
at  me.  I  met  it  steadily,  and  she  turned  her  eyes 
away.  Again  she  looked  at  me,  and  my  gaze  appar- 
ently reassured  her,  for  she  gave  me  her  hand  in  a 
very  unaffected  manner,  and  we  went  through  a 
living-room  into  a  simply  furnished  dining-room.  It 
much  resembled  one  of  my  own  century,  except  that 
the  furniture  was  in  good  taste;  the  curves  and 
spirals  and  volutes  of  our  machine-carved  chairs  and 
tables  were  gone;  the  wall  was  of  a  plain  gray,  with- 
out paper  or  pictures;  the  carpet  was  plain,  and  the 
absence  of  curls  and  twists  even  on  the  handles  of 
the  cutlery  was  extraordinarily  restful.  Between  the 
two  rooms  was  a  small  enclosed  space  containing  a 
telephone  funnel  with  knobs  and  levers  disposed 
about  it,  and  a  dumb-waiter.  The  table  linen  was  of 
a  peculiar  lusterless  black.  Looking  out  of  the  win- 
dow, I  saw  that  the  uppermost  street  ran  past  it, 
and  occasionally  the  hatless  head  of  a  pedestrian 
appeared. 

''Anything  new  to  you,  Arnold?"  inquired  my 
host,  as  we  took  our  places  at  the  table. 

"Principally  the  color  of  the  table  linen,"  I  an- 
swered.    ''Black  seems  strange  to  me." 

"Black!  Do  you  call  that  black?"  asked  David 
in  surprise.  "Why,  that  is  mull,  and  not  at  all  like 
black  to  me.  For  my  part  I  prefer  the  old-fashioned 
white,  but  two  years  ago,  when  the  plans  to  dress  us 


The  Strangers'  House  73 

in  mull  instead  of  blue  were  rescinded,  the  Wool  and 
Linen  bosses  had  accumulated  a  large  quantity  of 
mull  goods  in  the  warehouses  on  speculation,  the 
loss  of  which  would  have  hurt  them  badly  ^ — so  we 
were  asked  to  use  mull-colored  table  linen." 

''Do  you  like  chicken?"  inquired  Elizabeth.  ''It  is 
of  last  year's  freezing,  and  I  got  it  as  a  special  favor, 
for  the  supply  for  34-5  is  not  yet  exhausted,  and 
they  are  supposed  not  to  draw  on  the  new  cellars. 
If  father  had  told  me  that  he  was  going  to  bring 
home  a  guest — " 

"But  I  didn't  know  it  myself,"  said  David.  "Of 
course,  I  could  have  telephoned,  but — " 

"Never  do  that !"  exclaimed  Elizabeth  impetu- 
ously ;  and  I  saw  the  look  of  fear  upon  her  face  again. 

A  bell  sounded,  the  shaft  door  clicked  open,  and  a 
tray  lay  in  the  orifice.  Elizabeth  carried  it  to  the 
table,  and  a  well-cooked  meal  was  smoking  before  us. 

"You  may  be  surprised  to  know  that  this  tea  was 
made  two  miles  away,"  said  David,  "in  the  district 
sub-kitchen.  It  came  to  us  at  seventy  miles  an  hour. 
Before  we  had  the  gyroscopic  attachments,  fluids 
were  occasionally  spilled." 

"And  how  do  you  clean  the  apartment?"  I  asked 
Elizabeth. 

"In  the  old-fashioned  way,"  she  answered,  smil- 
ing. "I  am  an  expert  with  the  solar  vacuum  and 
duster." 


74  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

"I  believe  our  friend  is  accustomed  to  the  existence 
of  a  servant  class,"  said  David,  laughing  at  me. 

But  there  was  a  subdued  melancholy  about  him, 
as  well  as  about  Elizabeth.  The  sense  of  it,  and  the 
constraint  it  bred,  grew  on  me  momentarily.  After 
dinner  the  dishes  were  sent  down  the  shaft,  and 
David  handed  me  a  typical  twentieth-century  cigar. 

*'In  a  sense,  this  is  one  of  our  compromises,"  he 
said,  as  we  sat  down  in  the  adjoining  room.  ^'Doctor 
Sanson  wants  to  forbid  the  use  of  nicotine  as  impair- 
ing the  productive  efficiency  of  the  race.  But 
the  Council  thinks  the  narcotic  has  a  restraining 
influence  — " 

He  broke  off  as  Elizabeth  looked  at  him  rather 
significantly. 

"I  understand,  then,  that  the  old  tendencies  toward 
the  illogical  and  the  unnecessary  have  not  been 
entirely  conquered?"  I  asked. 

"No,  no!"  said  David  emphatically.  "Private 
apartments,  for  instance,  instead  of  the  phalanstery. 
And  then  the  tabloid  floods !  The  human  stomach 
still  demands  bulk  as  well  as  nutriment.  Still,  it  is 
claimed  that  with  education — " 

"Do  you  remember  the  legend  of  the  man  who 
educated  his  ass  to  live  on  a  single  straw  a  day?" 
asked  Elizabeth. 

We  laughed;  but  I  was  still  conscious  of  the 
restraint. 


The  Strangers'  House  75 


'Then,  of  course,  people  are  too  lazy,  when 
hungry,  to  weigh  their  food  and  calculate  it  in  cal- 
ories," David  continued.  "Doctor  Sanson  is  fight- 
ing the  abuse  of  protein.  He  claims  that  its  decrease 
will  set  free  more  workers  to  apply  themselves  to 
more  productive  labor  instead  of  food-raising,  and 
will  also  lengthen  the  productive  life  of  the  individ- 
ual.    But  we  are  still  protein  gluttons." 

"The  chicken — "  interposed  Elizabeth. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  the  girl  had  some  serious 
purpose  in  her  interruptions.  I  was  beginning  to 
realize  that  she  still  feared  me ;  I  wondered  why. 

"And  you  may  have  observed  that  the  eternal 
feminine  has  baffled  Doctor  Sanson's  desire  to  abol- 
ish the  skirt,''  continued  David.  "In  fact,  human 
nature  seems  to  flow  on  in  much  the  same  old  way 
beneath  the  surface  of  civilization.  I  am  inclined 
to  think  that  our  economic  changes  have  not  seriously 
amended  it." 

"Father,  if  you  are  going  to  talk  like  a  heretic,  I 
shall  leave  you!"  exclaimed  Elizabeth,  rising. 

She  left  the  room,  and  David  followed  her.  Pres- 
ently he  came  back  alone. 

"Arnold,"  he  began,  seating  himself  and  knock- 
ing the  ashes  from  his  cigar,  "my  daughter  is 
troubled  about  my  frankness  with  you.  You  know 
there  is  a  period  of  necessary  restraint  just  now, 
owing  to  the  final   adjustment  being  incomplete. 


76  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

Some  of  the  oldest  men  remember  the  former  regime. 
The  Council  is  strict,  and  —  in  short,  Arnold,  I  am 
putting  my  own  safety  in  your  hands  because  I  trust 
you,  and  also  because — "  He  broke  off  in  confu- 
sion. "You  need  to  know  so  much  before  you  face 
the  Council,"  he  resumed.  **Arnold,  some  time  I 
will  receive  your  confidence,  and  then  —  well,  this 
misunderstanding  will  be  cleared  away." 

I  shook  his  hand  warmly.  "I  suppose  I  am  not 
permitted  to  leave  the  apartment?"  I  asked. 

"By  all  means.  Go  where  you  will.  Your  gray 
uniform  shows  you  to  be  an  unascribed  stranger,  and 
every  policeman  has  your  photograph  in  his  thumb- 
book  by  now.  Only,  remember  that  you  must 
decline  to  enter  into  conversation  with  anyone  who 
may  accost  you.  Please  remember  this  point  scru- 
pulously, for  your  own  sake.  But,  Arnold,  do  you 
know,  I  think  you  can  spend  the  rest  of  your  day 
very  profitably  in  learning  to  read." 

"Learn  in  a  day?" 

"To  some  extent.  There  are  only  thirty-five  prin- 
cipal characters,  and  all  the  sub-characters  are  read- 
ily discernible  as  coming  under  these  heads.  I  believe 
Elizabeth  has  an  old  spelling-book,  and  she  will  be 
delighted  to  instruct  you." 

The  idea  aroused  his  enthusiasm,  and  a  few  min- 
utes later  Elizabeth  had  begun  to  give  me  my  lesson. 
By  supper  time  I  had  already  mastered  the  elements. 


The  Strangers'  House  77 


and  we  continued  to  study  in  the  evening  under  the 
soft  solar  light,  which,  issuing  from  small,  shaded, 
glass-covered  apertures  m  the  walls,  made  the  room 
as  bright  as  day. 

Soon  after  dinner  the  dumb-waiter  shaft  clicked 
open  and  a  package  lay  there.  Inside  was  my  over- 
coat. 

At  least,  it  was  meant  for  me.  But  instead  of  the 
fine  cheviot,  I  discovered  a  wretched  mixture  of  cot- 
ton and  shoddy.     I  was  indignant. 

David  advised  me  to  do  nothing.  "A  stranger 
sometimes  gets  poor  service,"  he  explained. 

"It  is  a  deliberate  fraud,  then?"  I  demanded. 

He  placed  his  hand  restrainingly  on  my  arm.  'Is 
it  worth  while  quarreling  with  the  Wool  Boss  before 
you  go  to  the  Council  ?"  he  asked. 

He  went  on  to  explain  that  each  industry  was 
autonomous,  and  had  its  own  boss,  elected  annually 
by  the  workers,  in  theory,  but  for  life  in  practice. 
The  Wool  Boss,  like  the  other  bosses,  received  one 
per  cent  upon  the  value  of  every  article  made  by  his 
department. 

"At  present  our  social  organization  is  a  little 
upset/*  he  explained  again.  When  the  Russian 
troubles  are  ended  we  shall  resume  our  normal 
life.  There  will  be  more  spaciousness,  more  freedom 
....  liberty  will  be  enlarged  ....** 

We  went  to  bed  early.    I  was  grateful  to  discover 


78  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

that  the  old-fashioned  bed  had  not  been  sent  into 
limbo.  But  then  the  bed,  of  course,  antedates 
history. 

David  apologized  for  mentioning  bedtime. 

"Nine  is  the  curfew  hour,"  he  explained.  "At 
nine-half  the  solar  light  goes  out.  It  is  only  a  tem- 
porary restriction  until — "  Again  he  checked 
himself. 

I  mused  so  long  that  the  solar  light,  which  flooded 
the  bedroom  within  and  made  London  a  vivid  picture 
in  a  black  frame  without,  was  suddenly  turned  off, 
leaving  me  to  grope  my  way  into  bed  in  the  darkness. 
I  lay  thinking  of  Esther,  who  had  died  so  long  ago, 
and  I  knew  that  when  the  first  bewilderment  of  the 
new  life  had  passed  away  my  loss  would  seem  as 
unbearable  as  before.  I  was  as  helpless  as  a  savage 
in  this  fantastic  city.  It  seemed  incredible  that  I  had 
been  groping  in  the  cellar  that  same  morning. 

I  thought  of  Elizabeth  and  the  terrified  look  in 
her  eyes ;  I  heard  a  city  clock  strike  ten,  and,  an  hour 
later,  one,  and  it  was  long  before  I  remembered  that 
ten  was  midnight ;  my  last  resolve  was  to  try  to  for- 
get my  former  life  and  fling  myself  with  all  my 
power  into  the  new.  At  last  I  fell  asleep,  to  be 
awakened  by  the  sun  shining  into  my  eyes  along 
a  canyon  that  stretched  between  the  high  buildings 
as  far  as  I  could  see. 


1 


CHAPTER  VII 

HIDDEN    THINGS 

TT  WAS  not  until  a  week  had  passed  that  the  first 
stimulus  of  the  amazing  life  into  which  I  had 
been  plunged  abated,  leaving  me  a  prey  to  melan- 
choly reflections.  The  memory  of  Esther,  which  I 
had  tried  so  hard  to  put  away,  began  to  recur  inces- 
santly. I  felt  shut  off  from  humanity,  a  survival 
from  a  generation  whose  memory,  even,  had  become 
legendary. 

They  seemed  to  understand  my  feelings,  although 
they  could  not  know  their  cause,  and  tried  to  keep 
me  from  brooding.  By  tacit  understanding  no  ref- 
erences were  made  to  my  past.  They  accepted  me  as 
a  stranger,  and  yet  there  was  the  same  latent  sus- 
picion on  Elizabeth's  part.  And  I  could  not  help 
seeing  that  some  heavy  grief  or  apprehension  hung 
over  them.  And  I  felt  that  I  was  an  intruder  upon  it. 
At  night  I  would  hear  David  pacing  his  room  for 
hours,  and  sometimes  a  groan  would  break  from  his 
lips. 

He  gave  me  to  understand  that  the  summons  to 
appear  before  the  Council  might  be  delayed  for  days 
or  weeks.  It  was  always  presented  unexpectedly, 
and  always  peremptory,  he  said.    During  the  week 

79 


80  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

following  my  arrival  at  the  Strangers'  House  I 
never  went  out  alone.  Whenever  I  made  the  sug- 
gestion, David  either  volunteered  to  accompany  me 
or  found  some  excuse  to  detain  me.  In  particular, 
he  requested  me  to  stay  within  doors  during  the  four 
hours  when  he  was  at  the  Bureau,  in  the  morning. 

Finally  I  became  almost  exasperated.  *'You  have 
told  me  that  I  am  free,"  I  protested. 

"And  you  are  free,  Arnold,"  he  answered.  "It  is 
for  your  own  sake  that  I  make  this  request  of  you. 
There  are  hidden  things,  shadows  against  the  sun- 
light of  our  civilization,  and  transitory,  I  hope,  which 
you  would  hardly  understand.  You  must  learn  them 
by  degrees,  Arnold.  To  me  they  have  seemed  neces- 
sary in  this  transitional  epoch;  but  they  are  hard, 
Arnold;  hard  to  endure." 

And  he  sighed  in  so  melancholy  a  fashion  that  I 
suspected  one  of  those  shadows  rested  on  his  own 
home. 

Yes,  there  were  hidden  things,  and  I  got  no  nearer 
the  heart  of  them,  although  I  had  hints  as  to  their 
nature.  For  instance,  there  was  the  Animal  Vivi- 
section Bureau.  I  wondered  why  David  spoke  of  the 
Animal  Vivisection  Bureau,  and  not  of  the  Vivisec- 
tion Bureau. 

I  never  had  realized  before  how  large  a  share  ani- 
mals played  in  our  lives.  The  horse,  I  was  told,  had 
not  existed  in  the  British  Province  for  a  generation. 


Hidden  Things  81 


Cats  disappeared  when  the  rodent  virus  was  invented, 
and  were  now  only  to  be  found  in  a  wild  state  in  the 
woods.  There  seemed  to  be  no  dogs,  and  I  did  not 
ask  David  about  them. 

There  was  no  social  life  at  all.  The  other  inmates 
of  the  Strangers'  House  were  lodged  on  the  different 
floors  and  ate  in  common,  living  under  the  watchful 
care  of  the  deputies,  who  occasionally  came  to  David 
for  advice  or  instructions.  Our  only  neighbor  on 
the  top  floor  was  a  little  woman  with  two  children 
who  had  come  from  a  northern  city  and  intended  to 
return  as  soon  as  passes  for  leaving  London,  which 
had  been  stopped,  were  again  issued.  Inspectors 
from  the  Children's  Bureau  visited  her  nearly  every 
day,  always  leaving  her  in  a  condition  of  terror,  as 
I  inferred  from  a  remark  dropped  by  Elizabeth.  Her 
husband  had  dropped  dead  in  the  street  two  months 
before.  David  told  me  that  these  sudden  deaths 
were  common,  and  were  considered  a  triumph  for 
medical  science. 

And  yet  I  knew  that  David  had  visitors  after  the 
solar  lights  went  out.  My  room  was  at  the  end  of 
the  apartment  near  the  street ;  but  I  heard  strangers 
tiptoe  along  the  passage,  and  whispered  colloquies 
in  David's  room.  My  host  would  appear  abstracted 
the  next  morning,  and  watch  me  very  thoughtfully. 
At  such  times  I  felt  more  than  ever  an  intruder  in 
the  household. 


82  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

Yes,  it  was  a  world  Lazaroff  would  have  appre- 
ciated, could  he  have  had  his  wish  fulfilled,  to  be  born 
into  it.  Would  his  viewpoint  have  changed,  I  won- 
dered ?  It  was  a  world  from  which  all  the  amenities 
and  charities  of  life  seemed  to  have  been  banished. 
I  tried  to  lead  up  to  that  subject  in  my  talks  with 
David,  but  he  appeared  unable  to  understand  me. 

Was  it  an  atheistic  world  ?  I  had  not  ventured  to 
question  David  about  this.  But  I  knew  that  there 
was  no  Sunday  upon  the  calendar,  and  that  the  tenth 
day  was  the  civil  holiday.  That  day  had  fallen 
already,  and  endless  crowds  had  marched  through 
the  streets,  to  the  music  of  bands,  to  play-places  in 
waste  spots  outside  London.  The  Council  super- 
vised the  games,  which  were  compulsory.  Of  all  the 
paternal  regulations  of  the  Council,  this  seemed  to 
me  the  most  arbitrary  and  oppressive. 

*We  have  to  keep  the  people  under  discipline,'* 
David  explained.  "Once  they  were  allowed  to  wan- 
der at  will;  but  they  tore  up  the  trees  and  flowers 
and  strewed  paper  and  broken  bottles  everywhere." 

That  was  true.  I  remembered  the  public  fields  of 
my  own  age.  I  recalled  how  one  writer  had  seen 
in  them  a  complete  indictment  of  democracy  itself. 

I  was  amazed  and  alarmed  increasingly  by  what  I 
saw  in  my  journeys  about  the  town  with  David :  the 
large  brass  tags  that  gave  each  person  his  label,  the 
occupation  badges,  the  insolence  of  the  whites,  pass- 


Hidden  Things  83 


ing  with  bodyguards  of  blues  who  elbowed  all  out  of 
their  way.  And  once  there  came  a  frantic  scramble 
to  make  a  passage  for  a  tall,  black-bearded  man  in  a 
dark-blue  uniform,  who  passed  in  the  midst  of  his 
retinue  with  clanking  sword. 

I  had  noticed  these  men  in  uniform  about  the 
streets.  They  strode  like  conquerors  amid  a  servile 
populace.  I  learned  that  the  tall  man  was  Mehemet, 
a  Turk  in  command  of  an  international  force,  the 
bodyguard  of  Sanson,  and  devoted  to  him. 

Perhaps  it  was  as  well  that,  before  my  enlighten- 
ment came,  I  completed  a  cursory  survey  of  the  new 
civilization.  At  my  request  David  took  me  to  one  of 
the  public  schools.  I  was  astonished  to  discover  that 
no  history  prior  to  1945  was  taught,  and  no  geog- 
raphy. The  greater  part  of  the  curriculum  was 
devoted  to  scientific  and  economic  subjects.  So  great 
had  been  the  progress  in  knowledge  that,  on  open- 
ing some  of  the  text-books,  I  discovered  that  I  was 
quite  unable  to  understand  them. 

I  learned  that  Oxford  and  Cambridge  had  dis- 
appeared, with  the  old  public  schools,  in  1945,  after 
a  revolution,  the  anger  of  the  people  having  been 
kindled  against  them  on  account  of  their  moral  influ- 
ence and  the  distinctive  stamp  of  character  that  they 
produced.  To  prevent  tutors  of  personality  from 
imparting  to  their  pupils  the  elements  of  humane 
tradition,   David  told  me,  the  text-books  were  so 


84  TJie  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

written  as  to  eliminate  entirely  the  personal  element 
in  instruction,  a  reform  that  the  prophet  Wells  had 
urged  rather  furiously,  and  perhaps  invidiously,  in 
his  own  century. 

"The  Council  shapes  each  citizen's  education  from 
the  cradle  to  the  workshop,"  said  David.  '*It  is  very 
anxious  to  secure  precision  of  knowledge.  For  in- 
stance, it  is  a  criminal  offense  for  mothers  to  teach 
their  children  fairy  stories.  It  is  the  duty  of  the 
inspectors  to  question  children  rigorously,  in  order 
to  ascertain  whether  they  are  acquainted  with  any 
of  this  unscientific,  heretical  folk-lore." 

"Which  has  doubtless  all  perished,"  I  said. 

"On  the  contrary,"  he  answered,  "an  immense 
quantity  of  it  has  come  down  to  us,  practically  un- 
changed, through  all  the  revolutions  of  the  past 
century,  and  not  only  that  but  new  tales  have  arisen. 
The  authorities  are  at  their  wits'  end  to  discover  who 
is  responsible  for  the  existence  of  this  masonic  secret 
among  the  younger  generation." 

Prom  the  school  we  went  to  the  workshop.  On  the 
way  home  we  stopped  at  one  of  the  open-air  moving 
picture  shows,  and  saw  two  or  three  dramatized  ver- 
sions of  public  affairs.  Ingenious  mechanism  syn- 
chronized the  movements  of  the  figures  upon  the 
screen,  which  were  in  stereoscopic  relief,  with 
speeches  made  through  the  telephone  funnels.  These, 
David  said,  took  the  place  of  newspapers  when  the 


Hidden  Things  35 


socialized  State  destroyed  the  printed  news-sheet  by 
the  simple  process  of  killing  the  advertising. 

We  also  looked  inside  the  district  art  gallery. 
None  of  the  pictures  antedated  the  year  1978,  and 
each  illustrated  some  phase  of  the  new  civilization 
in  an  educational  way.    I  must  not  forget  to  say  that 
later  I  found  a  novel  in  David's  home,  which  Eliza- 
beth must  have  read  in  her  schoolgirl  days.     The 
scene  was  laid  in  the  early  twentieth  century,  and 
the  story  dealt  with  the  adventures  of  a  young  man 
of  property,  depicting  the  romance  of  his  care-free 
life.     A  moral  at  the  end,  and  copious  footnotes, 
inserted  by  the  Council's  order,  drew  attention  to  the 
improvement  in  the  human  lot  since  that  barbarous 
period. 

So,  day  by  day,  I  waited,  and  my  eyes  were  opened 
more  and  more  to  my  environment.  Daily  I  ex- 
pected the  Council  summons  that  did  not  come,  and 
daily  the  constraint  grew.  I  was  thinking  of  sug- 
gesting to  David  that  I  should  be  located  among  the 
other  strangers  in  place  of  continuing  to  accept  his 
hospitality;  but  before  I  could. decide  to  approach 
him  an  incident  occurred  which  revealed  to  me  the 
existence  of  conditions  which,  unintelligible  though 
they  were,  made  me  decide  to  approach  David  aga'in 
with  a  view  to  a  mutual  understanding 

David  was  at  the  Strangers'  Bureau  and  would  not 
return  for  at  least  two  hours.     Under  Elizabeth's 


S6  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

instruction  I  had  made  swift  progress  in  understand- 
ing the  combinations  of  syllables  that  make  up  the 
written  language.  I  had  just  begun,  in  fact,  to  mas- 
ter the  ingenious  Breboeuf  system,  whereby  the  sim- 
pler of  the  syllables  have  been  combined  to  form  the 
written  speech  of  four  of  the  five  Provinces.  David 
had  told  me  that  the  Council's  inability  to  enforce 
the  invented  language  Spekezi  as  the  universal 
tongue,  had  been  one  of  the  severest  shocks  that  the 
new  civilization  had  received.  Then  came  Breboeuf 
with  his  universal  syllabic  symbols. 

Now,  if  the  written  language  were  merely  picto- 
rial, it  could  have  been  used  to  represent  all  the  lan- 
guages on  earth.  But  since  it  is  syllabic,  and  there- 
fore depicts  words  instead  of  ideas,  it  was  a  supreme 
achievement  to  have  invented  a  written  language 
adapted  to  four  tongues.  The  Breboeuf  system  is 
based,  of  course,  upon  the  common  Latin  and  San- 
skrit elements.  Breboeuf,  who  was  one  of  the  last  of 
the  classical  scholars,  was  rewarded,  as  is  well 
known,  by  being  freed  from  the  defectives'  art 
factories  in  his  old  age,  and  pensioned. 

However,  it  was  not  my  purpose  to  touch  upon 
this  matter.  My  interest  was  beginning  to  flag,  and 
I  was  paying  more  attention  to  Elizabeth  than  to  the 
lesson.  I  was  trying  to  trace  in  her  features  some 
elusive  resemblance  to  Esther.  I  was  wondering 
whether  I  could  ever  become  a  normal  citizen  of 


Hidden  Things  87 


this  strange  world.  Suddenly  the  telephone  funnel 
shouted  Elizabeth's  name. 

She  sprang  from  her  chair  and  rushed  into  her 
bedroom,  which  was  next  to  the  external  elevator 
shaft.  Her  expression  and  gestures  alarmed  me  so 
greatly  that  I  ran  after  her.  When  I  reached  her 
door  I  saw  her  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
deathly  white,  and  clenched  in  her  hand  was  a  knife, 
which  she  was  aiming  at  her  heart. 

I  ran  into  the  room  and  wrested  the  weapon  from 
her  grasp.  She  fell  upon  the  floor  unconscious.  All 
the  while  this  was  happening  the  funnel  was  shout- 
ing stridently,  ^'Elizabeth !"  ''Elizabeth!"  together 
with  the  string  of  letters  and  figures  that  completed 
her  nomenclature. 

I  went  to  the  funnel  and  lied  to  the  voice.  *'She 
is  not  here,"  I  said. 

'Then  tell  her,  when  she  returns,  that  the  price  of 
the  dress  will  be  five  units  more,  on  account  of  the 
new  wool  schedule,"  the  voice  responded. 

Such  was  the  half-comic  ending  of  what  had 
nearly  been  a  tragedy.  I  revived  the  girl  and  ex- 
plained the  matter  to  her,  but  for  some  time 
she  remained  in  a  condition  approaching  collapse. 
When  she  began  to  regain  consciousness  she  wept 
hysterically. 

It  was  only  the  fear  of  causing  David  anxiety  that 
enabled  her  to  resume  her  accustomed  demeanor  by 


88  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

the  time  he  returned.  She  begged  me  to  make  no 
mention  of  the  matter  to  him,  and  I  agreed  on  con- 
dition that  she  would  never  use  the  knife  except 
in  the  last  extremity.  But  I  was  working  in  the 
dark,  for,  though  she  consented  to  the  bargain, 
when  I  begged  her  to  tell  me  what  it  was  she  feared, 
she  remained  mute,  shaking  her  head  and  closing  her 
mouth  obstinately. 

"Will  you  not  trust  me,  Elizabeth  ?"  I  pleaded. 

Then,  to  my  surprise,  she  looked  accusingly  at  me. 
"Will  you  trust  me  ?"  she  asked.  "Will  you  not  trust 
my  father  and  me?  Haven't  you  news  of  Paul?" 
Her  expression,  was  indescribably  beseeching. 

"We  don't  know  who  you  are,"  she  went  on  rap- 
idly. "My  father  trusts  everybody.  But  I  know 
your  assumed  ignorance  is  impossible.  You  don't 
trust  us,  Arnold,  and  you  are  playing  with  us.  You 
have  been  here  three  weeks  and  the  Council  has  not 
sent  for  you.  If  you  were  what  you  claim  to  be 
you  would  know  your  danger.  Trust  us,  and,  if  you 
are  what  we  hoped  you  were,  tell  me  about  Paul.  Is 
he  safe?    Is  he  well?" 

"I  never  heard  of  him,"  I  stammered.    "I — " 

She  looked  at  me  with  reproach  and  glided  quietly 
away.  I  heard  her  sigh  mournfully.  And  still  I 
groped  in  a  fog  of  mystery  and  could  learn  nothing. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

HOW    THE    WORLD    WAS    MADE    OVER 

T^  AVID  possessed  a  small  library  of  books,  nearly 
^"^  all  of  a  scientific  nature.  Among  them,  how- 
ever, I  found  two  histories,  and,  in  spite  of  their 
obvious  bias  and  violent  character,  I  was  enabled  to 
understand  what  had  happened  in  the  world  since 
my  long  sleep  began. 

I  learned  of  the  great  war  that  had  begun  a  few 
days  after  I  entered  the  cylinder,  when  Russia  and 
the  democracies  of  Europe  stamped  out  German 
autocracy  and  laid  the  foundations  of  democratic 
government.  I  learned  how  this  democratic  spirit 
burst  out  in  1945,  when  all  the  experiences  of  the 
social  order,  accumulated  by  mankind  since  the  dawn 
of  history  were  jettisoned,  with  all  their  lessons 
and  all  their  warnings. 

It  was  extraordinary  to  me  that  none  of  us  had 
realized  the  changes  which  had  been  impending. 
Warnings  there  had  been,  as  there  always  are.  They 
were  the  decay  of  parliamentary  government  in  all 
lands,  the  breaking  down  of  tradition  and  authority 
in  every  phase ;  only  there  was  nobody  to  heed  them. 
Then,  previously,  whether  by  acknowledgment  or  in 
spite  of  denial,  society  had  always  been  founded  on 

89 


90  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

servile  labor.  The  harnessing  of  the  tides,  and,  later, 
the  control  of  solar  power,  threw  millions  out  of 
employment,  millions  of  hungry  men  with  time  to 
think  and  nothing  to  reverence. 

The  book  said  that  the  movement  could  have  been 
stayed  by  wise  measures.  But  it  was  doubtful,  for 
a  frenzy  for  change  was  spreading  like  wildfire  over 
the  civilized  world.  Now  only  Spain,  restored  Rus- 
sia, and  monarchical  and  prosperous  South  America 
resisted  it,  among  Occidental  nations. 

I  read  that  in  1945  democracy  initiated  the  mil- 
lennium by  bursting  all  the  dykes.  Millions  were 
slain.  London,  Paris,  Berlin,  New  York,  Chicago, 
Winnipeg  were  burned  to  ashes,  with  scores  of  other 
cities.  Peace  was  restored  fifteen  years  later  by  a 
few  military  chiefs  who  came  into  power  owing  to 
the  universal  exhaustion.  At  that  time  whole  popu- 
lations were  turning  cannibal.  All  organized  indus- 
tries had  been  destroyed.  The  path  for  reconstruc- 
tion was  clear. 

Men  called  that  the  period  of  reaction,  but  it  might 
have  been  the  period  of  reconciliation.  Both  sides 
failed  in  the  ensuing  years ;  the  mob,  because  it  lacked 
idealism ;  the  leaders,  because  they  failed  to  recognize 
the  unassailable  truth  in  the  old  Socialist  propaganda, 
that  the  era  of  machinery  and  of  an  inexhaustible 
supply  of  industrial  power  had  made  the  systematiza- 
tion  of  production  inevitable.    With  half  the  people 


How  the  World  Was  Made  Over       91 

workless,  it  was  ridiculous  that  they  should  suffer 
and  starve  because  they  could  not  buy  the  goods  rot- 
ting in  the  stuffed  warehouses.  The  system  did  not 
fall  because  it  was  ridiculous,  however,  but  because 
it  had  become  unworkable.  Production  had  to  be  for 
use,  not  profit.  When  profit  went,  rent  had  to  go, 
and  interest,  that  leech  of  society,  so  long  forbidden 
by  the  Catholic  Church,  and  no  doubt  the  direst  result 
of  the  Reformation.  Failure  to  realize  this  need 
dragged  down  the  old  order  in  1978.  It  fell  forever, 
and  with  it  died  all  hope  of  a  civilization  built  on 
that  of  the  past. 

It  was  then  that  the  writings  of  the  great  Wells, 
since  called  the  Prophet,  were  discovered  and  proved 
the  inspiration  of  the  new  order.  In  place  of  the 
illogical  instinct  of  nations  there  was  to  be  a  New 
Republic,  based  on  pure  reason,  and  shining  with 
facets  of  unanswerable  facts.  The  world  was  to 
forget  its  past  as  thoroughly  as  it  had  forgotten  the 
Stone  Age.  The  new  revolution  was  led  by  Sanson, 
I  gathered,  and  swiftly  conquered.  There  ensued 
two  years  of  worse  anarchy  than  before.  India  was 
lost  to  Britain,  and  became  a  democracy,  convulsed 
with  civil  strife.  Our  savage  wards  reverted  to 
barbarism.  Australia  fell  to  China.  All  the  world's 
archives  were  destroyed.  Picture  galleries  went  up 
in  flames;  statues  were  smashed  to  pieces;  monu- 
ments were  blasted.     The  Parthenon  perished,  the 


92  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

British  Museum,  the  Louvre;  east  of  the  Bosphorus 
there  remained  hardly  a  memorial  of  the  past,  except 
St.  Peter's  and  Cologne  Cathedral.  But,  at  the  end 
of  the  two  years,  the  five  Provinces  of  Britain, 
France,  Skandogermania,  Italy,  and  Hungary  found 
themselves  the  nucleus  of  the  future  Federation  of 
Man,  under  a  pure  democracy. 

Here,  amid  fulsome  plaudits,  the  tale  ended;  but 
I  went  to  David  to  ask  him  for  some  more  particu- 
lars. He  had  seen  me  reading,  and  I  think  he  had 
been  prepared  for  my  question. 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  explain  anything,  Arnold,"  he 
said. 

'1  have  been  reading  about  the  new  Federation,'* 
I  said.  ^'England  is,  then,  no  longer  independent? 
And  the  United  States?    And  Russia  and  Spain?" 

He  smiled.  "Of  course,  if  you  do  not  know  these 
things,  Arnold — "  he  began.  "But  surely  you  are  at 
least  aware  of  the  history  of  your  own  country?" 

"I  know  nothing,"  I  answered. 

"Well,  then,  the  United  States  is  an  independent 
nation.  We  have  made  proposals  for  a  union,  but 
the  bosses  have  not  yet  come  to  terms.  Spain 
stamped  out  her  revolution.  We  were  on  the  point 
of  compelling  her  to  come  in  when  she  discovered  the 
secret  of  the  Glow  Ray,  which  would  have  made  the 
effort  unremunerative." 

"What  is  this  Ray?" 


Hozv  the  World  Was  Made  Over       93 

"It  is  a  combustion  by  old  light,  stored  solar 
energy  being  transmitted  for  that  and  all  other  power 
purposes  from  the  great  solar  works  on  the  Vosges 
Mountains.  Its  invention  made  the  old  warfare 
obsolete.  Our  small-arms  are  miniature  Ray  mir- 
rors, charged  with  a  single  unit ;  our  big  ordnance  is 
supplied  from  the  Vosges  by  cable  connection.  The 
Ray  destroys  everything  that  it  encounters,  not  pro- 
tected by  the  glow  paint  which  you  may  have  ob- 
served on  the  fronts  of  our  buildings.  This  is  the 
last  and  greatest  of  the  coal  tar  discoveries,  and  its 
manufacture  is  based  upon  the  exact  relationship 
between  the  disintegrating  glow  rays  and  an  exact 
color  having  a  fixed  number  of  vibrations. 

"Russia,"  he  continued,  "crushed  her  revolution, 
too,  as  she  had  crushed  earlier  anarchistic  outbreaks. 
But  though  she  has  discovered  the  glow  paint,  she  has 
not  the  Ray.  The  Federation  is  consequently  at  war 
with  her,  for  her  antiquated  ideals  make  her  a 
menace  to  civilization.  Besides,  we  need  her  wheat- 
fields.  We  have  an  army  of  ten  thousand  men,  two 
from  each  of  the  five  Provinces,  and  have  cooped 
up  the  young  Tsar,  Alexander,  with  his  army  of  a 
million  men,  in  Tula.  His  surrender  is  expected 
daily." 

"Ten  thousand  against  a  million?" 

"Yes,  with  the  Ray.  However,  even  ten  thousand 
were  difficult  to  secure,  though  the  pay  of  each  sol- 


'94  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

dier  is  five  units  hourly.  Twelve  men  have  been 
killed  already.  That  is  the  weak  point  in  our  civili- 
zation, Arnold.  In  spite  of  daily  lectures  by  the  most 
gifted  orators  that  the  Council  can  obtain,  showing 
that  the  desire  for  immortality  is  an  inherited  per- 
version, and  that  we  are  immortal  anyway,  in  the 
germ-plasm,  man  is  unwilling  to  die.  In  time  the 
Council  hopes,  by  reason  and  education,  to  rid  men 
of  this  ancient  terror.'* 

"What  is  the  ethical  basis  of  aur  government?" 
I  asked. 

"Science,  which  alone  survived  the  destruction  of 
knowledge.  The  scientific  books  were  saved  from 
the  twelve  million  tons  of  printed  paper,  chiefly  from 
the  British  Museum  shelves,  that  burned  for  twelve 
days  upon  Blackheath;  and  from  the  contents  of  the 
Bibliotheque  Nationale  that  heated  Paris  during  an 
entire  month. 

"A  commission  quickly  synthesized  the  discoveries 
of  earlier  investigators.  World  councils  of  scientists 
laid  down  the  dogmas  of  universal  knowledge  in  the 
Vienna  Creed,  which  was  adopted  without  dissen- 
tients after  those  who  objected  had  been  put  to  death. 
The  famous  quarrel  whether  Force  is  of  the  same 
substance  as  Matter,  or  a  like  substance,  was  decided 
here.  The  Sames  conquered  the  Similars,  by  virtue 
of  a  proclamation  from  Boss  Rose. 

"We  know  now  that  Science  has  given  Nature's 


How  the  World  Was  Made  Over       95 

complete  and  final  revelation  to  mankind.  We  tol- 
erate no  heresies,  no  independent  judgment.  In  vital 
matters  toleration  means  only  a  dead  faith.  The 
Modernist  idea  of  criticizing  the  basic  principles  of 
our  Science  becomes  a  capital  offense,  if  preached, 
because  the  Boss  is  himself  the  repository  of  all 
knowledge,  and  the  pronouncements  of  Boss  Lemb- 
ken  supreme.  It  is  not  that  we  are  bigoted,  you 
understand.  It  is,  indeed,  suggested  that  Science 
unfolds  like  a  flower,  revealing  herself  in  larger 
scope  to  each  generation.  But  new  discoveries  can 
only  be  adaptations  of  what  is  already  known." 

I  almost  thought  that  there  was  irony  in  his 
tone;  but  he  met  my  gaze  steadily,  challengingly, 
as  if  to  say,  *'If  these  are  not  your  views,  declare 
them." 

"One  thing  I  want  to  know  is  this,"  I  said.  "The 
history  books  make  no  mention  of  the  blues  and  the 
whites.  On  what  do  you  base  the  division  of  the 
State  into  these  two  groups  of  citizens?" 

"That  is  Doctor  Sanson's  doing/'  he  answered. 
"The  blues  are  the  defectives,  the  whites  the  perfect 
specimens  of  the  race.  The  whites  alone  are  admitted 
to  posts  of  responsibility.  But  most  of  them  prefer 
not  to  labor,  and  live  in  seclusion  upon  State  pensions 
for  the  sake  of  the  race. 

"This  is  considered  Doctor  Sanson's  crowning 
achievement  for  humanity,"  David  continued.    "Be- 


96  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

fore  his  advent  to  power,  defectives  had  been  living 
among  the  normal  population  since  the  dawn  of  his- 
tory unrecognized.  We  have  now  an  intricate  sys- 
tem of  points  of  deficiency  whereby  they  can  be 
detected  infallibly,  based  partly  upon  heredity,  partly 
on  measurements,  partly  craniometry  and  the  Binet- 
Sanson  tests. 

"Doctor  Sanson  has  long  been  anxious  to  pass  his 
sterilization  measure,  but  he  has  been  unable  to  per- 
suade the  Council  to  face  the  fierce,  ignorant,  popular 
resentment  that  it  would  incur,  although  this  practice 
is  of  respectable  antiquity  in  China  and  the  Moham- 
medan world,  and  was  reintroduced  to  the  Occident 
by  progressive  America  a  whole  century  ago.  Of 
course,  the  morons  and  all  below  a  certain  grading 
are  not  allowed  to  reproduce  their  kind ;  but  Sanson 
wishes  to  include  the  high-grade  defectives  also. 
However,  that  would  reduce  the  total  productivity, 
and  thus  the  question  bristles  with  difficulties.'* 

As  I  listened  to  all  this  jargon  I  felt  more  and 
more  bewildered. 

"You  appear  to  have  created  a  new  aristocracy, 
then,  based  on  physical  perfection,"  I  said. 

"No,  there  you  are  wrong,  Arnold,"  said  David. 
"Our  democracy  will  never  endure  hereditary  priv- 
ileges. What  It  has  introduced  is  hereditary  disabil- 
ities. We  simply  disqualify  from  the  white,  or 
normal  class,  the  ninety-five  per  cent  who  are  below 


How  the  World  Was  Made  Over       97 

the  standard.  It  was  progressive  America  that  first 
conceived  the  plan  of  raising  man  to  the  level  of  the 
hound  and  the  blooded  horse. 

"Yet,"  he  continued,  "defectives  do  crop  up,  even 
among  the  offspring  of  the  whites.  They  are  hard  to 
discover;  but  by  the  Sanson  tests  we  can  discover 
defectives  who  are,  to  all  appearance,  flawless.  This 
class  exists  especially  among  those  of  unusual  mental 
power,  which  is  in  itself  a  stigma  of  deficiency.  Then 
there  are  the  men  who  write  our  books  and  paint  our 
pictures  in  the  art  factories.  They  present  an  an- 
archical longing  for  personal  license.  But  they  are 
isolated  and  never  allowed  to  mingle  with  the  world. 
Yes,  there  are  odd  kinks  in  the  human  brain.  For 
instance,  there  still  exists  a  preposterous  sense  of 
nationality,  which  is  being  remedied  by  a  system  of 
forced  emigration.  The  Prophet  Wells  did  not  en- 
tirely estimate  in  its  exactness  the  tenacity  of  this 
illogical  notion. 

'Then  there  was  that  extraordinary  outbreak,  the 
Name  War.  Who  could  have  anticipated  that  human 
beings  would  object  to  being  classified  under  letters 
and  numbers,  for  the  sake  of  statistical  simplicity? 
Yet  a  misguided  fifty  thousand  chose  to  meet  death 
rather  than  give  up  their  names.  However,  Britain 
is  said  to  be  the  province  of  compromises,  and  it  was 
agreed  that  the  whites  should  retain  two  names,  and 
the  blues  one.'* 


98  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

''But  surely,"  I  said,  *'the  people  did  not  vote  for 
these  restrictions?" 

''You  do  not  understand  our  system  of  govern- 
ment, Arnold.  Naturally  there  can  be  no  voting  in 
matters  of  science,  sanitation,  or  statistics.  Yet, 
even  here  there  is  an  indirect  control,  for  our  rulers, 
who  are  whites,  are  elected  by  ballot  annually,  by  the 
high-grade  defectives  of  both  sexes.  The  Federal 
Council,  which  is  not  now  in  session,  meets  once  a 
year  in  London,  the  capital,  and  consists  of  five  lay 
bosses,  of  whom  Lembken  is  chief,  and  five  Science 
bosses  under  Sanson.  You  will  appreciate  the  sta- 
bility of  our  government  when  I  tell  you  that 
for  twenty  years  every  nominated  boss  has  been 
re-elected." 

I  was  almost  certain  of  an  undertone  of  irony  in 
his  words  now. 

*'You  see,"  he  continued,  "non-votes  are  counted 
as  ayes.  Then  those  opposing  the  Council  must  give 
their  reason,  which  is  filed  in  the  Bureau  of  Com- 
plaints. And  again  all  such  objections  have  been 
found  to  be  invalid,  since  they  have  invariably  been 
made  by  undetected  morons,  who  have  been  sent  to 
the  workshops  for  life  in  consequence.  Every  appli- 
cant at  the  Bureau  of  Complaints  is  examined  by 
physicians.     That  was  Sanson's  idea." 

A  most  ingenious  one.  Suddenly  I  became  sure 
that  David  was  testing  me;  the  whole  tenor  of  his 


How  the  World  Was  Made  Over       99 


conversation  had  been  ironical,  hesitating,  perhaps, 
and  carefully  weighed,  lest  he  was  running  into  dan- 
ger, but  corresponding  in  no  wise  to  his  convictions, 
But  why  was  he  afraid  of  me? 

*'Who  is  this  Doctor  Sanson?"  I  asked  him. 

To  my  surprise  his  voice  dropped,  and,  before 
answering,  he  cast  a  cautious  glance  toward  the 
telephone  funnel.  Then,  rising,  he  stuffed  a  sofa 
cover  into  it. 

"An  illegal  act,"  he  said,  reseating  himself.  **If 
that  were  known  I  should  be  liable  to  forced  labor 
in  the  leather  factories  for  several  years.  Now, 
Arnold,  you  see  my  faith  in  you.  Well,  then,  I  can- 
not answer  you.  He  is  a  man  of  superhuman  powers, 
more  feared  than  any  man  has  ever  been  feared. 
There  is  a  popular  belief  that  he  was  born  a  thou- 
sand years  ago,  and  has  wandered  from  land  to  land, 
waiting  for  the  new  age  to  dawn.  The  Christians 
called  him  Antichrist.  Nothing  has  ever  been  learned 
as  to  his  origin.  He  appeared  like  a  conqueror,  about 
the  year  1980,  to  lead  the  hosts  of  the  revolution  to 
victory." 

"He  is  the  ruler?" 

David  shook  his  head.  "Boss  Lembken  is  the  tit- 
ular head.  But  all  know  that  Sanson  is  supreme, 
although  he  chooses  to  let  Boss  Lembken  hold  the 
reins  of  power.  He  could  do  anything,  make  any 
laws  he  wished,  become  supreme  ruler  of  earth.    He 


100         The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

is  believed  to  be  immortal,  and  to  have  the  power 
of  renewing  his  youth  whenever  he  wishes.  Arnold, 
the  people  believe  that  he  can  bestow  immortality 
upon  them  and  overcome  their  last  enemy,  death. 
That  is  the  secret  of  their  terror  of  him.    And — '' 

His  voice  sank  to  a  whisper: 

**You  have  come  at  a  critical  time.  For  this 
expectancy  has  set  a  date.  None  knows  how  the 
rumor  started,  but  during  the  next  few  months,  *soon 
after  the  Cold  Solstice,'  the  prophecy  runs,  a  Mes- 
siah is  to  come  to  earth,  ignorant  of  his  destiny. 
When  he  learns  it  he  will  offer  mankind  its  ancient 
liberty.  Sanson  will  offer  immortality  in  place  of  it. 
Then  will  come  the  most  titanic  of  all  struggles,  and 
the  result  is  not  known." 

His  voice  quavered  and  ceased.  And,  staring  at 
him,  incredulous  at  first,  I  realized  that  David  was 
repeating  no  foolish,  popular  tale,  but  what  he  him- 
self believed. 

Even  Science  had  not  succeeded  in  banishing  faith 
from  the  hearts  of  men.  She  had  made  it  supersti- 
tion instead.  My  brain  reeled  as  the  dreadful  picture 
David  had  drawn  came  home  to  me. 
,  *'David,"  I  exclaimed  impulsively,  "you  are  an 
educated  man  and  an  intelligent  one.  Why  do  you 
not  wear  the  white  uniform?  Surely  you  are  not  a 
defective?" 

"Yes,"  he  replied.    "Under  the  Sanson  law.    My 


How  the  World  Was  Made  Over     loi 

father  had  epileptic  seizures  in  his  youth.  He  had  to 
hide  —  but  some  day  I  will  tell  you  about  that.  It 
penalizes  me  twelve  points,  and  Elizabeth  six,  thank 
God!" 

And,  just  as  the  airscout's  face  had  expressed  fear 
at  my  own  expletive,  so  David  recoiled  in  horror  at 
the  word  that  had  burst  from  his  lips. 

"Arnold,"  he  said,  taking  me  by  the  arm,  "there 
is  a  book  —  an  illegal  book,  to  possess  which  would 
mean  death.  I  am  going  to  lend  it  to  you  —  and 
after  you  have  read  it  you  can  tell  me  your  story." 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE    BOOK 

T  FOUND  the  book  beneath  my  pillow.     David 

had  been  afraid  to  hand  it  to  me,  and  I  was  not 
surprised.  For  assuredly  the  anonymous  author 
would  have  received  the  utmost  penalty  from  the 
Council. 

He  was  a  Christian,  and  he  took  the  ground  that 
democracy,  in  itself  bad,  had  become  impossible 
when  the  atheistic  deism  of  the  eighteenth  century 
pervaded  the  minds  of  the  voting  masses  and  took 
the  form  of  Haeckel's  materialism  and  that  of  his 
school  of  thinkers. 

He  claimed  that,  so  far  from  indicating  the  spread 
of  enlightenment,  it  was  due  to  national  decay,  and 
had  always  preceded  periods  of  national  reconstruc- 
tion, instancing  Rome  and  Athens,  and  the  America 
of  a  century  ago,  where  democracy  had  become  in- 
compatible with  free  speech  and  assembly,  an  inde- 
pendent judiciary,  and  a  broad  and  secure  freedom. 

Written  for  circulation  among  those  opposed  to 
the  Sanson  regime,  it  was  a  fervent  prayer  for  the 
deliverance  of  the  world.  In  it  I  gathered  more  of 
the  meaning  of  the  new  civilization  than  I  had 
learned  from  David. 

102 


The  Book  103 

I  read  that  the  War  of  the  Nations  was  caused 
by  one  thing  alone:  the  breaking  down  of  Chris- 
tianity in  Germany,  and  the  revival  of  the  old  pagan 
doctrines,  with  the  ensuing  challenge  against  all  that 
humanity  had  built  up  during  two  thousand  years. 

But  in  that  period  of  ferments  only  a  few  had 
seen  this  meaning.  The  challenge  had  been  inter- 
preted as  one  of  aristocracy  against  democracy, 
largely  because  democracy,  then  in  the  saddle,  was 
the  creed  of  the  loudest  publicists.  For  this  the 
writer  Wells,  known  posthumously  as  "The 
Prophet,"  a  man  whose  penetrating  judgment  and 
synthetic  mind  were  fogged  by  class  consciousness, 
was  largely  responsible. 

The  hope  of  democracy  was  fair  in  those  after- 
years,  when  nations,  purged  by  their  ordeal  of  blood, 
revived  the  noble  hopes  of  liberty.  Men  would  have 
sacrificed  everything  for  their  brethren  during  that 
first  decade  of  peace.  There  was  a  splendid  spiritual 
awakening  among  the  nations.  Democracy  was 
the  young,  smiling  god,  the  guardian  of  universal 
peace. 

If  only,  the  writer  said,  that  spiritual  enlargement 
had  been  joined  to  Christian  faith.  But  the  back- 
wash of  nineteenth  century  atheism  swamped  it. 
The  doctrines  of  materialism  were  rooted  in  the 
masses.  The  German  virus  could  not  be  rooted  out 
without  trained  leadership  and  ideals.     I  recalled 


104         The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

Sir  Spofforth's  words  when  I  read  that.  **It  must 
not  happen  again!"  all  men  had  said,  when  at  last 
peace  triumphed.  No,  not  if  the  spirit  of  Christ, 
governing  all  men,  had  drawn  them  into  brother- 
hood. But  what  if  insults  had  been  heaped  upon 
the  German  people?  What  hope  of  peace  was 
there  when  hate  such  as  this  ruled  in  the  mind  of  the 
leader  of  the  new  faith? 

Instead  of  Christ,  these  blind  philosophers  set  up 
their  democratic  god.  They  labelled  war  "dynastic," 
and  believed  democracy  would  destroy  it.  Had  they 
not  used  their  eyes?  Did  they  not  know  that  war 
was  the  embodiment  of  hate?  Had  they  never 
looked  on  a  mob,  shouting  for  war,  or  was  human 
nature  to  be  changed  by  education,  and  through  pros- 
perity, so  that  no  nation  would  ever  again  gather  to 
itself  false  doctrines,  with  hate,  and  scorn,  and  pride, 
and  go  forth  to  destroy? 

As  every  century  produced  its  dominant  illusion, 
so  now  in  the  twentieth  this  singular  delusion  of  a 
democracy  progressing  through  graded  virtue  unto  a 
perfect  day  possessed  the  race.  And  here  the  writer 
paused  to  draw  another  instance  from  America,  not, 
as  he  was  painstaking  to  explain,  because  her  inhabi- 
tants were  different  from  other  men,  but  because  they 
were  the  same. 

He  showed  how  decadence  had  spread  exactly  as 
democracy  had  spread.    He  told  of  the  two  counties 


The  Book  105 

of  Ohio  where  investigation  showed  the  inhabitants 
to  have  sold  their  votes  universally  —  merchants  and 
clergymen,  professional  men  and  laborers.  Corrup- 
tion radiated  from  the  English-speaking  centers. 
Law,  principle,  and  integrity  had  gone  first  in  New 
England  and  the  South,  in  the  withered  branches  of 
Anglo-Saxondom  that  had  broken  from  the  bough. 
One  by  one  all  the  traditions  of  civic  honesty  had 
died;  and  if  life  was  still  tolerable  in  the  early  twen- 
tieth century,  when  justice  was  a  byword  and  faith 
in  public  men  had  almost  ceased,  it  was  because  the 
State  was  still  largely  an  abstraction  and  people 
could  still  keep  aloof  from  politics. 

All  the  while  there  existed  the  same  pitiable  belief 
that  this  democracy  would  some  day  become  honest, 
all-good,  all-wise;  but  this  was  democracy  and  the 
fruits  of  it,  and  nowhere  had  it  had  a  fairer  chance 
to  inaugurate  the  millennium.  And  the  same  mob 
that  ran  blindly  after  its  blind  leaders,  responsive  to 
every  prejudice,  to  the  old  Moloch  of  race-hatred  and 
the  old  Mammon  of  dishonesty,  would,  had  it  been 
allowed,  have  followed  an  ideal  with  its  fund  of 
inexhaustible  loyalty  and  self-sacrifice. 

Men  had  not  changed.  The  Amazon  and  Congo 
valleys  were  drenched  with  the  blood  of  murdered 
natives,  and  democracy  yawned,  just  as  the  blood 
of  Polish  women  and  children,  massacred  by  State 
troops,  cried  from  the  Colorado  mining  camps.     In 


106         The  MessiaH  of  the  Cylinder 

former  days  Christian  orders  arose  to  uphold  justice 
and  to  keep  down  the  devil  in  man.  When  Christen- 
dom was  one,  labor  guilds  had  arisen  under  Catholic 
auspices  whereby  all  men  could  live  in  freedom ;  now 
the  Pope,  impotent,  could  only  issue  an  encyclical 
against  that  oppression  of  labor  which,  in  its  turn, 
begot  hatred  and  war.  The  sword  of  Justice  had 
been  snapped  in  the  scabbard. 

Was  this  the  hope  of  the  world,  he  asked,  this 
barren,  Christless  democracy?  How  many  hearts 
had  it  broken?  How  many  idealists  had  sacrificed 
themselves  before  this  idol,  dying  with  blind  faith 
in  a  deity  that  devoured  its  votaries?  Was  there  no 
higher  hope?  Were  millions  of  colored  men  and 
women  in  America  to  be  born  forever,  black  cattle 
without  hope,  and  die  without  a  part  in  life?  Had 
not  the  race  at  last  turned  on  itself,  when  the  eugen- 
ics madness  thrust  the  sword  into  the  heart  of  every 
family  and  made  life  a  more  loathsome  slavery  than 
any  the  world  had  known  ?  What  a  sinister  end  to 
human  hopes ! 

The  persecutions  of  the  mob  always  struck  to 
degrade  humanity.  And  when  England  developed, 
in  proportion  to  her  democracy,  the  same  corruption 
as  the  United  States,  the  same  lack  of  loyalty  and 
public  sense,  the  same  violence  and  the  same  vin- 
dictiveness,  that  was  suspected  which  happened  after- 
ward—  that  the  same  types  of  men  would  rise  to 


The  Book  107 

leadership,  and  her  faithful,  loyal  heroes  vanish  like 
smoke  in  a  gale. 

And  all  the  time  the  remedy  was  at  hand;  no 
Moloch  of  hate,  no  stock-farm  theory  of  human 
bodies,  but  the  principles  of  Christ,  imposed  to  save 
the  world  by  leaders  who  had  abdicated  their  respon- 
sibility. The  mob  could  never  understand  the  need 
of  abstract  justice  nor  subordinate  greed  to  duty. 
But  for  some  ideal,  however  dimly  seen,  it  could 
obey  and  sacrifice  itself  with  matchless  zeal,  even 
to  death. 

Truly  the  Prophet  Wells  had  prophesied  of  the 
years  to  come :  ''Not  only  will  moral  standards  be 
shifting  and  uncertain,  admitting  of  physiologically 
sound  menages  of  very  variable  status,  but  also  vice 
and  depravity,  in  every  form  that  is  not  absolutely 
penal,  will  be  practiced  in  every  grade  of  magnifi- 
cence, and  condoned." 

A  shadow  fell  across  the  book.  I  looked  up  and 
saw  David.  He  had  been  glancing  over  my  shoulder 
as  I  read,  unconscious  of  him;  and  he  had  reached 
these  words  with  me. 

His  eyes  flashed,  he  shook  his  fist  in  vehemence 
of  passion.  "No,  Arnold!"  he  cried.  "We'll  fight 
as  long  as  we  live  to  remain  something  better  than 
the  beasts;  if  life  is  a  lie,  or  a  dream,  we'll  fight  for 
that!" 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  DOMED   BUILDING 

**  ARNOLD!    Arnold!" 

The  funnel  in  the  room  was  calling  me,  not 
in  its  customary  strident  tones,  but  with  a  muffled, 
intimate  appeal. 

David  was  at  the  Bureau,  and  Elizabeth  had  gone 
out  on  one  of  her  infrequent  journeys.  It  was  as  if 
the  voice  knew  I  was  alone,  for  it  had  never  spoken 
to  me  before,  and  had  never  called  in  that  particular 
tone  of  intimacy  and  understanding. 

''Arnold,  I  am  your  friend,"  the  voice  continued. 
''You  will  come  to  no  good  in  the  Strangers'  House. 
Go  out  quietly  by  the  external  elevator  at  once  and 
proceed  toward  the  Temple,  where  everything  will 
be  explained  to  you.'' 

My  bewilderment  changed  to  intense  expectancy. 
The  Temple  was,  I  knew,  the  domed  building  that 
seemed  to  dominate  London;  I  had  seen  it  from  afar 
each  time  David  and  I  had  gone  out  together,  and 
each  time  David  had  seemed  sedulously  to  avoid 
approaching  it,  proceeding  and  returning  in  a  cir- 
cuitous manner. 

"See  for  yourself  the  heritage  of  the  new  civiliza- 
tion," the  voice  continued.     "Do  not  allow  yourself 

108 


The  Domed  Building  109 


to  be  made  a  prisoner  by  those  who  wish  you  no 
good.  Go  out  at  once  by  the  external  elevator.  Turn 
to  the  right.  Walk  slowly.  Look  about  you.  Your 
friends  are  watching  you." 

I  went  out  and  descended  the  building  by  the 
external  elevator.  A  minute  later  I  was  upon  the 
traveling  street,  feeling  like  a  runaway  schoolboy, 
and  animated  by  an  intense  desire  to  solve  the  secret 
that  lay  before  me. 

Presently,  remembering  that  I  was  to  proceed 
slowly,  I  had  the  curiosity  to  step  off  the  traveling 
platform  into  a  large,  open  space  on  which  a  crowd 
was  seated.  I  took  my  post  beside  one  of  the  funnels 
that  surrounded  it,  and  saw  that  I  was  at  one  of  the 
moving  picture  performances.  Spelling  out  the  title 
upon  the  curtain,  I  understood  that  news  from  Rus- 
sia was  to  be  given. 

There  was  none  of  that  blur  of  vision  which  was 
a  common  defect  of  the  old-fashioned  pictures,  and 
the  words  spoken  from  the  funnels  synchronized  so 
perfectly  with  the  actions  on  the  screen  that  the  illu- 
sion was  complete.  Upon  the  parapet  of  the  fortress 
reared  by  our  besieging  troops  I  saw  machines  with 
conical  tops,  faced  with  large,  glow-painted  shields. 
As  I  watched,  there  rushed  across  the  field  of  vision 
a  number  of  men  of  the  most  degraded,  savage  as- 
pect, armed  with  long  swords,  which  they  brandished 
furiously,  while  the  funnels  yelled  like  demons. 


110  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

"These  are  the  Russian  savages,  filthy  defectives 
who  are  attacking  the  army  of  the  Federation,"  an- 
nounced the  funnel  at  my  side,  in  such  a  personal 
way  that  I  started,  imagining  for  a  moment  that 
someone  had  spoken  to  me. 

As  the  horde  neared  the  fortress  a  short  com- 
mand was  uttered,  and  from  each  of  the  conical  ma- 
chines a  glare  of  light  shot  forth.  The  Russians 
wilted  and  crumpled  up.  They  did  not  fall;  they 
were  rather  consumed  like  lead  dropped  into  fire, 
and  the  next  line  wilted  too  as  the  Ray  caught  them, 
tumbling  in  charred  masses  upon  the  bodies  of  their 
companions.  Higher  and  higher  rose  the  dreadful 
pyramid  of  mortality,  until  the  field  was  empty. 

"The  victory  of  Science  over  Superstition,"  an- 
nounced each  funnel  simultaneously.  "The  Russians 
do  not  possess  the  Ray.  They  are  degraded  outcasts, 
refuse  from  the  pre-civilization  period,  starving  in 
Tula,  and  will  all  die  unless  they  surrender  soon. 
What  a  pity  to  have  to  destroy  so  much  potential 
productivity!  It  is  the  Tsar's  fault.  He  is  a  dirty 
moron,  full  of  germ  life,  and  has  never  produced  a 
hektone  in  his  life.  We  shall  next  see  him  before 
the  Council.  Boss  Lembken  is  on  the  job.  Praise 
him!" 

"Hurrah"  yelled  the  spectators,  rising  in  their 
seats  to  cheer. 

The  curtain  darkened,  and  the  next  scene  of  the 


The  Domed  Building  111 

drama  was  displayed.  It  was  laid  in  the  Council 
Hall ;  but  inasmuch  as  the  Council  was  not  in  session, 
and  the  Tsar  was  not  yet  captured,  it  possessed  a 
certain  unreality  for  me  which  the  audience  did  not 
seem  to  share.  With  considerable  interest  I  watched 
the  ten  about  the  Council  table.  At  the  head  sat  a 
figure  of  enormous  girth,  dressed  in  white,  with  a 
black,  or  probably  mull  robe  about  the  shoulders. 
The  face,  appalling  in  its  grossness,  must  be  that  of 
Lembken,  titular  ruler  of  the  Federation,  a  fat  old 
man  with  huge  paunch  and  shrunken  throat,  on 
which  the  sagging  cheeks  hung  like  a  dewlap.  A  fit 
head  for  such  a  people ! 

Beside  him  sat  a  man  of  about  the  same  age,  per- 
haps sixty  years,  but  lithe  and  lean  and  muscular, 
and  with  the  keenest,  crudest  face  that  I  ever  had 
seen.  His  whitening  hair  was  brushed  back  from 
his  forehead,  and  his  expression  was  so  full  of  sinis- 
ter and  malignant  power  that  I  knew  this  could  be 
none  other  than  Sanson,  the  devil  of  this  devil's 
world,  who  ruled  the  superstitious  multitude  by  the 
terror  of  "Science  become  Faith,"  as  old  Sir  Spof- 
forth  had  so  aptly  phrased  it. 

And,  as  I  looked  at  him,  I  seemed  to  see  the  fea- 
tures of  Herman  Lazaroff,  as  he  might  have  been  in 
his  old  age.  There  was  the  same  self-confidence, 
become  arrogance,  and  self-assertion  grown  with 
power,  the  same  demoniac  energy  and  will,  trained 


112  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

by  its  use  upon  a  servile  multitude.  Thus  Lazaroff 
might  have  been,  if  he  could  have  had  his  wish  to 
live  again. 

What  struck  me,  as  I  gazed  upon  the  strong,  clean- 
shaven faces  about  the  Council  board,  was  that  they 
seemed  to  reproduce  the  aspect  and  gestures  of  the 
degenerate  emperors  of  Rome.  Was  history  re- 
peating itself;  a  state-fed  mob,  state-governed  indus- 
tries, the  fist  of  autocracy  beneath  the  glove  of  impo- 
tent democracy,  and  those  terrific  incarnations  of 
cruelty  and  insane  pride  in  power? 

I  saw  the  Tsar,  a  dwarfish,  wretched  figure  in  a 
tinsel  crown,  dragged,  groveling,  to  Lembken's  feet, 
while  Lembken  assumed  an  attitude  of  inflexibility; 
and  then  once  more  the  curtain  darkened. 

'Traise  your  Boss!"  hooted  the  funnels.  "He  is 
the  people's  friend.  That's  how  he  deals  with  kings ! 
He  shows  no  mercy  to  the  people's  enemies.  The 
Tsar  is  a  low-grade  moron.*  His  heredity  is  hor- 
rible. He  cannot  pass  Test  i  upon  the  Binet  board. 
He  is  a  wretched  brach,  and  will  now  work  in  the 
leathers  till  he  dies,  producing  for  you." 

''Hurrah!"  screamed  the  spectators.  ''Out  with 
him !    To  the  Rest  Cure !" 

And  the  absurdity  of  the  display  came  home  to 
none  except  myself.  These  citizens  were  in  deadly 
earnest.  How  shrewd  the  mind  that  had  contrived 
a  pabulum  so  well  calculated  to  appeal  to  the  mob 


The  Domed  Bidlding  113 

palate !  The  contrived  crudeness,  the  planned  abuse 
betrayed  an  intimate  and  assured  acquaintance  with 
the  people's  psychology. 

"Praise  louder!"  whispered  the  intimate  voice 
beside  me.  *'Why  do  you  not  praise  when  the  others 
do?" 

And  then  I  realized  that  the  funnel  was  speaking 
to  me!  Nobody  else  had  heard,  nobody  else  was 
meant  to  hear.  I  knew  that  the  funnels  had  a  tele- 
photophonic  attachment  whereby  one  could  see  as 
well  as  hear.  Somewhere,  then,  the  person  who  had 
spoken  to  me  that  morning  was  watching  and  play- 
ing with  me.    For  an  instant  I  felt  caught  in  a  trap. 

**You  do  not  seem  to  be  an  admirer  of  Boss  Lemb- 
ken,"  said  a  voice  upon  my  other  side;  and  I  swung 
around  to  see  a  little,  sallow  man  in  blue,  with  a  plank 
badge  on  his  shoulder,  indicating  that  he  was  a  car- 
penter. *'I  see  you  are  a  stranger,"  he  continued, 
with  a  glance  at  my  gray  uniform.  "What  do  you 
think  of  London?" 

"I  have  not  seen  much  of  it  as  yet,"  I  answered, 
remembering  David's  warning. 

"Ah,  you  are  diplomatic,"  he  returned  suavely. 
"One  has  to  be  diplomatic  in  these  days,  do  you  not 
think  ?  You  are  of  the  same  opinion  as  many  of  us, 
only  you  lack  the  courage  to  say  it,  that  certain  fea- 
tures of  our  civilization  are  over-developed.  Now 
let  us  take  Doctor  Sanson,  for  instance  —  do  you  not 


114         The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

consider  that  he  is  pushing  his  prosecution  of  morons 
to  undue  lengths?  Has  he  not,  in  other  words,  a 
mania  about  them?" 

''I  think,"  I  answered,  hotly,  "that  a  man  whose 
chief  amusement  consists  in  torturing  his  fellow- 
men  needs  to  have  his  own  mentality  investigated." 

"A  worthy  sentiment,"  answered  the  little  man, 
nodding  his  head  briskly.  In  short,  you  are  with  us 
on  that  subject.    And  as  for  Lembken?" 

"I  know  nothing  of  him,"  I  answered  shortly. 

''No,  of  course  not.  You  are  wise  not  to  commit 
yourself,"  said  the  little  man  eagerly.  "One  must 
not  pass  judgment  without  investigation.  But  still, 
our  democracy  has,  in  some  respects,  retained  the 
features  of  the  old  despotisms,  do  you  not  think? 
And  then,  do  you  consider  that  the  people  are  really 
omnipotent?" 

He  cocked  his  head  as  he  spoke,  and  he  had  the 
objectionable  habit  of  thrusting  his  face  forward, 
so  that  he  had  been  forcing  me,  step  by  step,  around 
the  circumference  of  a  circle. 

"The  truth  is,  you  say,  we  are  actually  in  a  condi- 
tion  of  slavery,"  he  persisted.  "We  are  no  better 
off  than  our  ancestors,  for  all  our  boast  of  civiliza- 
tion.   Is  that  not  so,  to  your  way  of  thinking?" 

"You  are  very  quick,"  I  answered,  "to  put  words 
into  my  mouth  before  I  speak  them." 

"But  you  think  them.     Don't  you  think  them?" 


The  Domed  Building  115 

he  urged,  cocking  his  head  again  and  watching  me 
with  intense  eagerness. 

The  Httle  man  had  ceased  crowding  me,  and  sud- 
denly I  saw  that  he  had  contrived  to  have  me  speak 
ahnost  into  the  mouth  of  the  funnel.  It  was  only 
then  that  the  meaning  of  his  pertinacity  and  of  his 
repulsive  trade  grew  clear  to  me. 

"Take  yourself  away!"  I  cried  in  anger. 

''Oh,  certainly!  By  all  means!  Yap,  yap,  if  you 
wish  it,"  he  answered,  drawing  back  and  watching 
me  with  a  sarcastic  smile. 

I  went  upon  my  way,  filled  with  indignation.  I 
wondered  whether  the  Council  was  watching  me  be- 
fore summoning  me,  and  why  they  attributed  so 
much  importance  to  my  views.  I  stared  about  me 
at  the  streets  and  the  crowds,  the  dazzling  fronts 
of  the  high  buildings,  and  even  then  I  half  believed 
that  this  was  a  dream.  Life  could  not  have  grown  so 
accursed  as  this. 

Before  I  became  aware  of  it  I  had  drawn  near  to 
the  domed  building,  toward  which  the  street  was 
running.  The  houses  suddenly  fell  away,  and  the 
splendid  structure,  which  had  seemed  to  float  above 
the  house-tops  elusively,  revealed  itself  to  me.  I 
was  near  the  summit  of  a  rather  steep  hill,  whose 
superior  portion  consisted  of  a  smooth  glacis  com- 
posed of  neatly- jointed  stones,  across  which  the  con- 
verging streets  moved  toward  the  castellated  fortifi- 


116         The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

cation,  each  terminating  before  a  gate  in  this  wall. 
The  gate  in  front  of  me  was  composed  of  huge  blocks 
of  stone,  probably  with  a  steel  foundation,  and  swung 
upon  thin  hinges  of  some  metal  that  must  have  had 
enormous  tensile  strength.  It  was  open  and,  like 
the  fortification,  was  covered  with  glow  paint  or 
plaster,  a  dazzling  mirror,  now  white,  now  blue,  and 
bright  as  sunlight.  Above  the  wall  were  the  great 
conical,  glow-painted  Ray  guns. 

I  passed  through  the  gateway  under  a  massive 
arch.  Now  I  saw  that  the  double  wall  enclosed  a 
barracks  or  circular  fortress,  surrounding  the  inner 
courtyard,  and  connected  with  the  dome  by  long 
bridges,  stretched  upon  arches.  The  court  within 
was  laid  out  in  grass  plots,  and  was  most  spacious. 

I  stood  still  and  gazed  in  admiration  at  the  stu- 
pendous architectural  scheme  of  the  great  building 
that  occupied  the  center  of  the  circular  space.  The 
dome  covered  only  a  small  portion  of  the  entire  mass, 
and  on  each  side  was  a  succession  of  halls  and  por- 
ticos, approached  between  Corinthian  columns,  and, 
I  thought,  intercommunicating.  The  part  immedi- 
ately beneath  the  dome  appeared  to  be  of  older  date 
than  the  rest,  and  formed  the  nucleus  of  the  com- 
plete conception. 

As  I  stood  staring  in  astonishment,  suddenly  I 
knew  what  the  domed  building  was.  It  was  St. 
Paul's  Cathedral;  but  the  cross  was  gone. 


The  Domed  Building  117 


My  wonder  grew  as  I  watched  it.    The  dome  de- 
signed by  Sir  Christopher  Wren  remained  intact; 
yet  it  no  longer  rested  on  the  summit,  but  seemed 
to  soar,  supported  on  numerous  low  pillars,  and, 
twenty  feet  beneath  it,  on  a  flat  under-roof,  was  a 
garden  of  luxuriating  palm  trees,  and  therefore  pre- 
sumably enclosed  by  invisible  crystal  walls.     I  saw 
the  gorgeous  coloring  of  tropical  flowers,  and  scar- 
let creepers  that  twined  around  the  trunks  of  old 
trees.     What  a  magnificent  pleasure-ground  for  the 
Council  of  the  Federated  Provinces,  high  up  above 
the  London  streets  in  the  December  weather ! 

An  elderly,  bent  man  in  blue,  with  the  sign  of  a 
hammer  on  his  shoulder,  came  slowly  toward  me. 

"Can  one  obtain  a  permit  to  go  to  the  Council 
garden?"  I  inquired  of  him. 

He  stopped  and  looked  dully  at  me.  ''Eh?"  he 
inquired. 

"I  want  to  go  up  and  see  the  aerial  garden,"  I 
responded,  pointing. 

"You  want  to  go  up  there?"  he  exclaimed,  and 
then  began  to  chuckle.  He  slapped  first  one  knee 
and  then  the  other. 

"Ho !  Ho !"  he  roared.  "That's  good.  But  listen ! 
You  don't  know  who  you're  talking  to.  My  daughter 
lives  up  there.  I'll  never  see  her  again,  but  I  like  to 
viralk  here  and  look  up  and  think  about  my  luck.  It 
gives  me  standing.    I've  got  to  earn  a  hektone  and 


118         The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

a  quarter  monthly,  haven't  I  ?  But  I  tell  you  I  don't 
earn  fifty  ones  a  month,  and  I  lay  off  when  I  want  to, 
and  there's  not  a  Labor  Boss  dares  say  a  word  to  me. 
And  down  I  go  on  the  register  for  my  hektone  and 
a  quarter  every  month,  as  sure  as  the  sun  rises." 

His  hard,  shrewd  laughter  convulsed  him  again, 
and  he  slapped  his  legs  and  leered  at  me.  Then  he 
drew  closer  to  me  and  laid  his  hand  on  my  arm 
confidentially. 

"You've  heard  of  this  new  freedom  the  people  are 
whispering  about?"  he  asked,  glancing  apprehen- 
sively about  him.  ^'They're  never  satisfied,  the  peo- 
ple aren't.  They  want  to  get  back  to  the  old,  bad 
ways  of  a  hundred  years  ago,  when  there  wasn't 
food  to  go  around,  and  the  rich  sucked  the  poor  men 
dry.  I've  read  about  those  days.  But  the  people 
are  forgetting.  Sanson  will  crush  them  when  they're 
ready  to  break  out.  Do  you  know  what  they  want  ? 
Do  you?    Do  you? 

''They  want  God  back  again,  after  we've  put  him 
down.  They  want  their  heaven  after  their  rotten 
hides  are  turned  into  fertilizer.  I  know.  I  know 
those  Christians.  London's  full  of  them  today.  The 
defective  shops  are  full  of  them.  They're  talking 
and  planning  for  an  uprising  that  will  turn  back  the 
hands  of  the  clock.  But  Sanson  will  oust  them  when 
he  gets  ready.  He'll  give  them  the  Rest  Cure. 
.    "They  say  there's  a  Messiah  coming  to  mate  the 


The  Domed  Building  119 

Temple  goddess  and  bring  back  the  old,  bad  days. 
Do  you  know  what  Sanson  means  to  do  ?  He's  going 
to  mate  her  himself.  And  then  he's  going  to  make 
us  all  immortal.  We'll  have  our  heaven  on  earth 
then,  and  keep  our  bodies  too.  What's  the  use  of 
a  heaven  when  you  haven't  a  body  to  enjoy  it  with? 
Sanson  will  make  us  all  young  again.  We  don^t 
want  freedom,  we  want  immortality." 

I  was  so  astonished  by  his  gabbling  that  I  re- 
mained silent  after  he  had  ended,  not  knowing  how 
to  answer  him.  He  began  scanning  me  slowly  from 
my  feet  upward. 

^'You're  a  stranger,"  he  said,  with  slow  sus- 
picion. 

"Yes,"  I  replied.  "Now  tell  me  how  I  can  go  up 
to  the  Council  garden." 

"Garden,"  he  replied,  in  apparent  stupefaction. 
"Don't  you  know  that's  Boss  Lembken's  palace? 
That's  the  People's  House,  where  Boss  Lembken 
lives.  People  can't  go  up  there.  Don't  you  know 
that's  the  People's  House?    Who  are  you?" 

Suddenly  he  started  back  and  a  malignant  look 
came  over  his  face. 

"You're  a  wipe !"  he  shrieked.  "You  want  to  trap 
me  and  send  me  to  the  Comfortable  Bedroom  be- 
cause I'm  too  old  to  work.  Never  a  month  passes 
but  I  put  up  my  hektone  and  a  quarter.  Look  on  the 
register.    You  want  to  switch  an  old  man  who  minds 


120  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

his  own  business  and  puts  up  his  hektone  and  a  quar- 
ter, you  rotten  moron!" 

His  old  face  worked  with  fear  and  excitement, 
and  he  raised  his  fist  in  a  threatening  manner ;  then, 
suddenly  changing  his  intention,  he  swung  on  his 
heel  and  hurried  away  toward  the  gate.  I  saw  him 
glance  back  furtively  at  me  and  then  increase  his 
speed. 

As  I  turned  to  look  at  him  I  perceived  that  a 
small  wooden  gate  on  the  interior  side  of  the 
circular  fortification  stood  partly  open,  and  in- 
side I  saw  a  troop  of  the  international  guards  at 
drill. 

I  crossed  the  court  and  came  to  a  halt  before  the 
Corinthian  columns  that  I  had  seen;  and  now  I  per- 
ceived that  the  pedestal  of  each  contained  a  bas- 
relief,  a  conventionalized  figure  beneath  which  was 
engraved  a  tribute  to  some  great  leader  of  man- 
kind. The  engravings  were  in  the  old  Roman  char- 
acters, which  seemed  to  have  been  retained  on  stat- 
ues, coins,  and  brasses,  just  as  we  in  our  day  still 
inscribed  coins  and  statue  pedestals  in  Latin.  I 
walked  around  the  columns,  reading  these  inscrip- 
tions. 

The  first  that  caught  my  eye  was  in  honor  of 
Darwin,  and  read  simply,  "The  Father  of  Civiliza- 
tion." 

The  next  was  to  Karl  Marx.     "He  interpreted 


The  Domed  Building 


121 


history  in  the  Hght  of  materialism,  and  gave  us  the 
social  State,  with  food  for  all/'  I  read. 

There  was  one  in  honor  of  Wells,  ^^the  Prophet  of 
the  Race." 

There  was  one  to  Weismann,  "who  gave  us  im- 
mortality, not  in  a  ghostly  heaven,  but  in  the  germ- 
plasm." 

The  next  was  to  Mendel,  who  had  "interpreted 
man's  destiny  in  terms  of  the  pea."  Poor,  patient, 
toiling  Abbot,  what  were  you  doing  in  this  galaxy? 

And  there  was  one  to  Nietzsche,  "the  scourge  of 
Jesus  of  Nazareth,  a  peasant  god." 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  GODDESS  OF  THE  TEMPLE 

^T^HE  man  in  blue  with  the  machine  badge  on  his 
shoulder,  who  was  waiting  for  me  at  the  en- 
trance, surveyed  me  with  a  smile  of  tolerant  amuse- 
ment. 

''You  are  now  at  the  heart  of  civilization,"  he 
began.  ''Let  me  act  as  your  guide,  for  I  see  that 
you  are  a  stranger.  Is  it  not  wonderful  to  contem- 
plate that  here,  upon  a  space  of  a  few  hektares,  man 
has  erected  a  monument  that  shall  endure  forever! 
This  wing,"  he  added,  "is  Doctor  Sanson's  domain, 
while  Boss  Lembken  exercises  his  priestly  function 
from  the  People's  House,  under  the  dome." 

He  led  me  within  the  portico  and  through  a  swing 
door  on  the  north  side  of  the  building.  I  found 
myself  within  a  circular  chamber  like  a  hospital 
theater,  with  marble  seats  rising  almost  to  the  roof 
around  a  small  central  platform,  on  which  were  a 
crystal  table,  a  large  silver  tank,  and  a  cabinet  with 
glass  doors,  through  which  I  could  see  surgical 
appliances. 

"This  is  the  Animal  Vivisection  Bureau,"  said 
my  guide.  "It  is  not  open  to  the  public  while  demon- 
strations are  being  given.    The  Council  does  not  per- 

122 


The  Goddess  of  the  Temple  123 

mit  the  laity  to  acquire  medical  knowledge.  We 
have  several  hundred  dogs  constantly  kenneled  be- 
neath, in  the  sound-proof  rooms;  they  are  born 
there  and,  in  general,  die  here." 
"You  use  only  dogs?"  I  asked. 
"At  present,  yes.  Their  trustfulness  and  docility 
make  them  the  best  subjects,  for  we  are  demonstrat- 
ing to  our  classes  the  nature  and  symptoms  of  pain. 
Now  here — " 

I  followed  him  through  another  swing  door  into 
a  similar  room,  but  at  least  twice  the  size. 

"This  is  the  Vivisection  Bureau,"  he  continued, 
taking  his  stand  beside  a  table  of  reddish  marble  mot- 
tled wuth  blue  veins,  with  a  cup-like  depression  at 
the  head.  The  people  call  it,  jocularly,  of  course,  the 
Rest  Cure  Home.  You  can  guess  why.  Criminals 
and  other  suitable  subjects  are  never  lacking  for  ex- 
perimentation. Doctor  Sanson  is  said  to  be  making 
investigations  which  will  prove  of  a  revolutionary 
nature.  Then,  the  supply  of  moron  children  appears 
to  be  inexhaustible.  Again,  of  course,  there  is  the 
annual  Surgeons'  Day,  when  we  round  up  the  popu- 
lace. The  date  being  movable,  the  ignorant  are  kept 
in  a  state  of  wholesome  apprehension.  But  let  us 
follow  that  throng." 

Through  the  glass  of  the  swing  door  I  perceived  a 
large  crowd  pouring  into  another  part  of  the  build- 
ing, following  in  the  wake  of  an  old  man,  perhaps 


124         The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

eighty  years  of  age,  who  was  being  conducted  by  two 
of  the  blue-coated  guards.  Behind  him  trailed  a 
little  rat-faced  man  in  blue,  who  glanced  furtively 
about  him  with  a  smile  of  bravado.  We  went  with 
the  mob  into  a  third  chamber. 

It  was  about  the  size  of  the  second,  and  in  the 
center  was  a  large  structure  of  steel,  with  a  swing 
door.  The  brass  rail  which  surrounded  it  kept  back 
the  spectators,  who  lined  it,  heaving  and  staring,  and 
uttering  loud  exclamations  of  interest  and  delight. 
The  room  was  filled  with  the  nauseating  stench  of 
an  anaesthetic. 

One  of  the  guards  raised  a  drop-bar  in  the  rail, 
and  the  old  man  passed  through  and  walked  with 
firm  steps  toward  the  steel  structure.  His  white 
beard  drifted  over  his  breast,  his  blue  eyes  were 
fixed  hard,  and  he  had  the  poise  of  complete  resig- 
nation. At  the  door  he  turned  and  addressed  the 
spectators. 

"It's  a  bad  world,  and  I  am  glad  to  go  out  of  it," 
he  said.  'T  remember  w^hen  the  world  was  Chris- 
tian.   It  was  a  better  world  then." 

He  passed  through,  and  the  anaesthetic  fumes  sud- 
denly became  intensified.  I  heard  the  creak  as  of  a 
chair  inside  the  structure,  a  sigh,  and  the  soft  dab- 
bing of  a  wet  sponge.  That  was  all,  and  the  mob, 
struck  silent,  began  to  shuffle,  and  then  to  murmur. 
I  saw  the  rat- faced  man  slinking  away. 


The  Goddess  of  the  Temple  125 

"This,"  said  my  guide,  "is  popularly  called  the 
Comfortable  Bedroom.  The  old  man  can  no  longer 
produce  his  hektone  and  a  quarter  monthly,  and  his 
grandson,  who  has  the  right  to  take  over  the  burden, 
has  just  been  mated.  Most  of  our  old  qualify  for 
life  in  senility,  but  no  doubt  he  dissipated  his  credit 
margin  in  youth.  Again,  many  prefer  to  go  this  way. 
Now  if  he  had  been  a  woman  he  would  have  been 
accredited  thirty  hektones  for  each  child  supplied 
to  the  State.  That  is  Doctor  Sanson's  method  of 
assuring  productivity.'' 

But  I  broke  from  the  man  in  horror,  forcing  my 
passage  through  the  crowd,  which  was  dispersing 
already.  I  ran  on  through  hall  after  hall,  approach- 
ing the  central  part  of  the  building,  until  I  was  again 
blocked  by  a  crowd,  this  time  of  young  men  and 
women  in  blue,  who  were  reading  a  lengthy  list  of 
letters  and  figures,  suspended  high  in  the  center  of 
this  chamber.  Most  of  these  young  people  were  in 
pairs,  and,  as  they  read,  they  nudged  each  other  and 
exchanged  facetious  phrases. 

But  one  pair  I  saw  who,  with  clasped  hands,  turned 
wretchedly  away  and  passed  back  slowly  toward  the 
entrance. 

"This  is  more  cheerful  than  the  Comfortable  Bed- 
room," murmured  a  voice  at  my  side. 

The  new  speaker  was  a  dapper  young  fellow  with 
a  small,  pert  mustache  and  an  air  of  insinuating 


126  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

familiarity.  He  placed  his  hand  upon  my  arm  to 
detain  me  as  I  started  to  move  away. 

**The  kindly  Council,  which  relieves  old  age  of  the 
burden  of  life,  also  provides  that  the  life  to  come 
shall  be  as  efficient  for  productivity  as  possible,"  he 
said.  "I  see  you  are  a  stranger  and  may  not  know 
that  these  young  people  are  here  to  learn  the  names 
of  their  mates." 

*'Do  you  mean  that  the  Council  decides  whom  each 
man  or  woman  is  to  marry?"  I  asked. 

"To  mate  ?  Yap,  in  ordinary  cases.  There  is  no 
mating  for  one- fourth  of  the  population  —  that  is  to 
say,  those  of  the  morons  whose  germ-plasm  contains 
impure  dominants,  and  who  are  yet  capable  of  suffi- 
cient productivity  to  be  permitted  to  reach  maturity. 
Grade  2,  the  ordinary  defectives,  who  number  an- 
other fourth  of  the  people,  are  at  present  mated, 
though  Doctor  Sanson  will  soon  abolish  this  prac- 
tice. The  sexes  of  this  class  are  united  in  accordance 
with  their  Sanson  rating,  with  a  view  to  eliminating 
the  dominants." 

"And  these  are  defectives  of  what  you  call  Grade 
2?"  I  asked. 

"No,  these  are  all  Grade  i  defectives,"  he  an- 
swered, regarding  me  with  amusement.  "Defec- 
tives such  as  us.  We  number  forty-five  per  cent  of 
the  population  and  form  the  average  type.  They  are 
free  to  choose  within  limits.     The  Council  prepares 


The  Goddess  of  the  Temple  127 

periodically  lists  of  young  men  and  young  women 
in  whom  the  deficiencies  are  recessive,  and  those  on 
one  side  of  the  list  may  mate  with  any  of  those  upon 
the  other  side.  Monogamy  is,  however,  frowned 
upon.  I  suppose  you,  in  your  country,  never  heard 
of  this  plan?" 

"Yes,  it  used  to  be  called  the  totem,  or  group  mar- 
riage, and  was  confined  to  the  most  degraded  sav- 
ages on  earth,  the  Aborigines  of  Australia,"  I  an- 
swered. But  the  little  man,  who  had  evidently  not 
heard  of  Australia,  only  looked  at  me  blankly.  A 
rush  of  people  toward  the  next  hall  carried  us  apart, 
and,  not  loath  to  lose  my  companion,  I  followed  the 
crowd,  to  find  myself  in  the  immense  central  audi- 
torium, within  which  orators  were  addressing  the 
people  from  various  platforms. 

Upon  that  nearest  me  a  lecturer  was  holding 
forth  with  the  enthusiasm  of  some  Dominican  of  old. 

''Produce!  Produce!"  he  yelled,  with  wild  ges- 
ticulations. **Out  with  the  unproductive  who  cannot 
create  a  hektone  and  a  quarter  monthly !  Out  with 
the  moron!  Out  with  the  defective!  Out  with  the 
unadaptable!  Out  with  the  weak!  Out  with  him 
who  denies  the  consubstantiality  of  Force  and  Mat- 
ter! No  compromise!  Sterilize,  sterilize,  as  Doctor 
Sanson  demands  of  you!  There  are  defectives  in 
the  shops  today,  spreading  the  moron  doctrines  of 
Christianity.    There  are  asymmetries  and  variations 


128         The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

from  the  Sanson  norm,  cunningly  concealed,  lega- 
cies of  malformations  from  degenerate  ancestors, 
impure  germ-plasm  that  menaces  the  future  of  the 
human  race.  Let  us  support  Sanson,  citizens!  Go 
through  the  city  with  sickle  and  pruning-hook  for 
the  perfect  race  of  the  future,  in  the  name  of  democ- 
racy !    Praise  the  great  Boss !" 

"Hurrah!"  shrieked  the  mob  enthusiastically. 

''Will  you  not  go  up  and  see  the  Temple  goddess  ?" 
whispered  a  voice  in  my  ear. 

I  started,  but  I  could  not  discern  the  speaker.  I 
looked  up.  On  either  side  of  the  auditorium  a  high 
staircase  of  gleaming  marble  led  to  a  gallery  which 
surrounded  it.  Doors  were  set  in  the  wall  of  this  in 
many  places,  and  above  were  more  stairs  and  more 
galleries,  tier  above  tier.  At  the  head  of  each  stair- 
way one  of  the  guards  was  posted.  He  stood  there 
like  a  statue,  picturesque  in  his  blue  uniform,  which 
made  a  splotch  of  color  against  the  white  marble 
wall. 

''Go  up  and  ask  no  questions,"  whispered  some- 
body on  my  other  side ;  and  again  I  turned  quickly, 
but  none  of  those  near  me  seemed  to  have  spoken. 

I  went  up  the  stairway,  passing  the  guard,  who 
did  not  stop  or  question  me.  As  I  stopped  in  the 
gallery,  high  above  the  auditorium,  a  door  opened, 
and  there  came  out  a  man  of  extreme  age,  dressed  in 
white,  with  a  gold  ant  badge  on  either  shoulder.    He 


The  Goddess  of  the  Temple  129 

propped  himself  upon  a  staff,  and  stood  blinking  and 
leering  at  me,  and  wagging  his  head  like  a  grotesque 
idol. 

"A  stranger !"  he  exclaimed.    "So  you  have  come 

to  see  the  goddess  of  the  Ant  Temple!    Would  you 

like  to  stand  upon  the  altar  platform  and  see  her 

face  to  face?     It  only  costs  one  hektone,  but  it  is 

customary  to  offer  a  gratuity  to  the  assistant  priest." 

I  thrust  the  money  into  the  shaking  hand  that  he 

stretched  out  to  me.    At  that  moment  I  did  not  know 

whether  I  was  still  free,  or  whether  this  was  that 

peremptory  summons  to  the  Council  of  which  David 

had  warned  me.     I  realized  that  the  spies  who  had 

dogged   my   path    were   all    links    in    some    subtle 

scheme. 

The  old  man  preceded  me  into  a  large  room  on  the 
south  side  of  the  auditorium,  beyond  which  I  saw 
another  door.  This  seemed  to  be  a  robing-room 
for  the  priests,  for  white  garments  with  the  gold 
ant  badge  hung  from  the  walls,  which  were  covered 
with  mirrors,  from  each  of  which  the  horrible  old 
face  grimaced  at  me. 

"You  are  to  go  through  that  door,"  said  the  old 
man,  pointing  to  the  far  end  of  the  room.  "It  is  a 
great  privilege  to  look  upon  the  face  of  the  goddess. 
Not  everyone  may  do  so,  but  you  are  not  an  ordinary 
man,  are  you?" 

He  shot  a  penetrating  glance  at  me. 


130  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

"Thus  the  Messiah  will  look  upon  her  when  he 
comes,"  he  continued.  "At  least,  so  runs  the  prophe- 
cy, and  remember,  you  may  be  he,  for  it  is  foretold 
that  he  will  come  unknowing  his  mission.  But 
wait!" — for  I  was  hastening  toward  the  door  — 
"you  must  put  on  a  priest's  robes.  It  is  not  proper 
for  a  layman  to  look  upon  the  goddess." 

He  indicated  a  white  robe  with  the  ant  badge  that 
hung  on  a  table  beside  me. 

"Don't  be  in  a  hurry,"  he  mumbled.  "It  is  a  great 
pleasure  to  me  to  talk  with  strangers  from  remote 
countries.  Where  do  you  come  from?  You  look 
like  a  man  of  the  last  century,  come  back  to  life. 
How  the  barbarians  of  that  period  would  stare  if 
they  could  see  our  civilization !" 

"What  is  this  Temple?"  I  inquired.  "Do  men 
worship  an  ant,  and  are  you  its  priest?" 

He  chuckled  and  leered  at  me.  "Oh,  no,  I  am  a 
very  humble  old  man,"  he  answered.  "I  am  only 
an  assistant  priest.  Boss  Lembken  is  the  Chief 
Priest.  And  you  ask  about  the  Ant?  The  people 
worship  it,  but  it  is  not  known  whether  they  see  it 
as  the  symbol  of  labor,  or  whether  they  think  it  is  a 
god.  The  religious  ideas  of  the  people  were  always 
a  confused  and  chaotic  jumble,  even  in  the  old  days 
of  Christianity.  But  the  Ant  is  only  the  transition 
stage  from  God  to  Matter.  We  know  there  is  no 
God,  nothing  but  Matter,  and  man  is  born  of  Matter 


The  Goddess  of  the  Temple  131 

and  destined  to  be  resolved  into  it.  But  the  people 
are  still  ignorant,  and  it  keeps  them  calm,  to  have 
an  ant  to  pray  to.  Besides,  if  there  were  not  the  Ant 
they  would  turn  to  Christianity  again  and  set  back 
the  clock  of  progress. 

"I  remember  Christianity  well.  In  my  young 
days  it  used  to  be  a  power.  I  used  to  go  to  church/' 
he  cackled.  ''Not  that  I  believed  in  God,  any  more 
than  the  rest.  Only  the  aristocrats  and  the  intellec- 
tuals did  that.  I  didn't  believe  in  the  Devil  either, 
but  I  do  now.  Do  you  know  the  Devil's  name  ?  It 
is  human  nature." 

I  remained  speechless  beneath  the  spell  that  the 
wretch  cast  over  me. 

"Yes,  the  Devil  is  human  nature/'  he  resumed. 
"For  it  would  thwart  progress  forever,  groveling 
before  its  idol  of  a  soul.  But  already,  when  I  was  a 
young  man,  only  the  intellectuals  believed  in  Chris- 
tianity. Once  it  had  been  the  masses.  But  Science 
proved  that  there  was  nothing  but  Matter,  and  the 
momentum  of  the  materialistic  impulse  was  too 
strong  for  the  reviving  faith.  The  aristocrats  should 
have  guarded  their  faith  instead  of  letting  the  people 
rise  to  control.  But  they  were  fools.  They  set  up 
in  little  rival  bodies  when  Christ  prayed  for  them 
to  be  one.  They  permitted  divorce  when  He  said  no. 
They  tried  to  compromise  with  Him,  all  except  Rome 
and  barbarous  Russia,  and  that  is  whv  St.  Peter's 


132  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

still  stands  as  a  Cathedral  while  St.  Paul's  is  the  Ant 
Temple.     I  remember  it  all. 

''Christ  knew.  He  knew  they  would  go  under  if 
they  tried  to  sail  with  the  wind.  When  Science  said 
there  were  no  miracles  they  cut  out  the  miracles. 
And  when  the  visionary  Myers  made  his  generation 
think  there  might  be  miracles  after  all,  they  put  some 
of  them  back  again,  but  very  cautiously.  They  didn't 
know  that  the  people  weren't  going  to  follow  them 
into  rationalism  and  then  out  again.  Nobody  was 
going  to  believe  when  the  leaders  themselves  didn't 
believe. 

''When  He  taught  them  how  to  heal  the  sick  they 
preferred  to  mix  His  prescription  with  drugs.  They 
couldn't  believe  in  one  thing  and  they  couldn't  be- 
lieve in  the  other.  He  told  them  to  leave  Caesar's 
things  to  Caesar,  and  they  went  into  politics.  They 
tried  to  bargain  with  Socialism  when  it  became 
strong,  but  it  wouldn't  have  anything  to  do  with 
them.  Then  they  preached  housing  reform  and  a 
good  living,  when  He  praised  poverty  and  told  them 
to  preach  resignation.  They  couldn't  obey  in  any- 
thing; they  thought  they  knew  better;  they  tried  to 
follow  the  times  after  they  split  into  pieces ;  of  course 
they  went  under." 

*Ts  there  no  Christianity  anywhere?"  I  asked. 

"In  your  native  Russia,"  he  jeered.  "In  St. 
Peter's,  because  the  Italian  Province  segregates  the 


The  Goddess  of  the  Temple  133 


evil  to  keep  it  under  observation.     In  Cologne,  be- 
cause the  bishop  learned  the  secret  of  the  Ray.    And 
in  the  defectives'  shops.     They  say  they  have  the 
Scriptures  hidden  in  there,  but  the  Council  has  put 
dozens  to  the  torture  and  has  never  found  them.    It 
is  hard  to  clear  the  human  mind  of  its  inherited  rub- 
bish.   After  the  Revolution,  Christianity  continued 
to  be  taught  among  other  myths.    But  it  aroused  anti- 
social  instincts.      Christians   were  the   enemies  of 
human  progress.     They  used  to  go  into  the  Rest 
Cure  Home  and  ask  to  be  vivisected  in  place  of  the 
wretched  morons  there.    You  can't  build  up  a  pro- 
gressive civilization  out  of  people  like  that.     So  the 
teaching  was  made  a  capital  offense.      That  was 
after  we  burned  the  bishops." 
"What!"  I  cried. 

"Death  by  burning  came  to  us  from  the  great 
trans-Atlantic  democracy,  you  know,"  he  said,  leer- 
ing at  me.  "Europe  had  forgotten  it.  But  we  set 
up  the  stakes  again.  I  saw  Archbishop  Tremont,  of 
York,  and  the  Roman  Catholic  Archbishop  of  West- 
minster burned  side  by  side  in  the  ruins  of  West- 
minster Hall.  Then  there  was  Bonham,  of  London, 
and  Bethany,  of  Manchester,  and  Dean  Cross,  of 
Chichester;  we  put  them  in  plaster  of  paris  and  un- 
slaked lime  first.  The  morons  could  have  fled  to 
Skandogermania,  which  was  not  free  then.  But  they 
.went,  all  three,  into  the  Council  Hall,  and  preached 


134  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

to  the  Council.  That  was  in  Boss  Rose's  time.  So 
they  had  to  go.  And  they  blessed  us  while  their 
bones  were  crackling.  You  can't  make  a  progressive 
nation  out  of  people  like  that." 

I  hurried  toward  the  door.  I  pushed  it  open,  and 
it  swung  back  noiselessly  behind  me. 

Within  the  vastness  of  the  Temple  I  heard  a  mur- 
mur rise,  a  wail  of  misery  that  made  the  ensuing 
silence  more  dreadful  still.  For  here  I  encountered 
only  thick  gloom  and  emptiness,  and  soundless  space, 
as  though  some  veil  of  awful  silence  had  been  drawn 
before  the  tabernacle  of  an  evil  god.  My  knees  shook 
as  I  advanced,  clutching  the  rail  beside  my  hand. 

I  found  myself  upon  a  slender  bridge  that  seemed 
to  span  the  vault.  It  widened  in  the  center  to  a  small, 
square,  stone-paved  enclosure,  like  a  flat  altar-top, 
surrounded  by  a  close-wrought  grille  that  gleamed 
like  gold.  I  halted  here,  and,  looking  down,  saw, 
far  beneath,  a  throng  whose  white  faces  stared  up- 
ward like  masks.  Again  that  chant  arose,  and  now 
I  heard  its  burden: 

"We  are  immortal  in  the  germ-plasm;  make  us 
immortal  in  the  body  before  we  die." 

Then  something  beneath  me  began  to  assume 
shape  as  my  eyes  grew  used  to  the  obscurity.  It 
was  a  great  ant  of  gold,  five  hundred  tons  of  it,  per- 
haps, erected  on  a  great  pedestal  of  stone;  where 
should  have  been  the  altar  of  the  Savior  of  the  world. 


The  Goddess  of  the  Temple  135 


there  the  abominable  insect  crawled,  with  its  articu- 
lated, smooth  body,  and  one  antenna  upraised. 

The  symbol   was  graven  clear.      This   was   the 
aspiration  of  mankind,  and  to  this  we  had  come, 
through  Science  that  would  not  look  within,  through 
a  feminism  that  had  sought  new,  and  the  progressive 
aims  of  ethical  doctrinaires  that  had  discarded  the 
old  safeguards;   Christ's  light  yoke   of  well-tried 
moral  laws,  sufficient  to  centuries;  through  all  the 
fanatic  votaries  of  a  mechanistic  creed;  polygamy 
and  mutilation,  and  all  the  shameful  things  from 
which  the  race  had  struggled  through  suffering  up- 
ward.   All  the  old  evils  which  we  had  thought  exor- 
cised forever  had  crept  in  on  us  again,  out  of  the 
shadows  where  they  had  lain  concealed, 

I  stood  there,  sick  with  horror,  clinging  to  the  rail. 
How  far  from  gentle  St.  Francis  and  St.  Cath- 
erine, and  all  the  gracious  spirits  of  the  dead  and 
derided  ages,  progress  had  moved !  Were  those  things 
false  and  forgotten,  those  saintly  ideals  which  had 
shone  like  lamps  of  faith  through  the  night  of  the 
world ?    Was  this  the  truth  and  were  those  nothing? 
I  heard  a  sobbing  in  the  shadows  beneath.     I 
looked  down  and  perceived,  immediately  before  the 
Ant,  an  aged  man  prostrate.     He  muttered;  and, 
though  I  heard  no  words  that  I  could  understand,  I 
realized  that,  in  his  blind,  helpless  way,  he  was  grop- 
ing toward  the  godhead. 


136  TJie  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

Then  I  looked  up  and  saw  something  that  sent  the 
blood  throbbing  through  my  head  and  drew  my  voice 
from  me  in  gasping  breaths. 

At  the  edge  of  the  platform  on  which  I  stood,  out 
of  the  gloom,  loomed  the  round  body  of  the  second 
cylinder.  And  inside,  through  the  face  of  unbroken 
glass,  I  saw  the  sleeping  face  of  Esther,  my  love  of 
a  century  ago. 

The  cap  of  the  cylinder  was  half  unscrewed. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  LORDS  OF  MISRULE 

T  SAW  her  eyelids  quiver  and  half  unclose  an  in- 
stant, and,  though  there  was  no  other  sign  of 
awakening  upon  the  mask-like  face  of  sleep,  I  knew 
she  lived.  The  indicators  upon  the  dials  showed  that 
five  days  remained  before  the  opening  of  the  cylin- 
der. And,  as  I  stared  through  the  glass  plate,  so 
horror-struck  and  shaken,  some  power  seemed  to 
take  possession  of  me  and  make  me  very  calm.  An 
immense  elation  succeeded  fear  and  rendered  it  im- 
potent. Esther  was  restored  to  me.  We  had  not 
slept  through  that  whole  century  not  to  meet  at  last. 
How  many  years  we  two  had  lain  side  by  side 
within  our  cylinders,  down  in  the  vault,  I  could  not 
know.  Yet  there  had  been  a  sweetness  behind  those 
misty  memories  of  my  awakening  as  if  our  spirits 
had  been  in  contact  during  those  hundred  years  of 
helpless  swoon. 

The  eyelids  quivered  again.  But  for  the  emacia- 
tion and  the  dreadful  pallor  I  might  have  thought 
she  was  only  lightly  sleeping,  and  would  awaken  at 
my  call.  The  love  in  my  heart  surged  up  tri- 
umphantly. For  her  sake  I  meant  to  play  the  man 
before  the  Council. 

137 


138         The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

I  meant  to  go  there  now.  I  think  my  instinct 
must  have  been  the  courage  born  of  hopelessness, 
such  as  that  which  had  carried  the  bishops  to  their 
death.  For  only  a  desperate  stroke  could  win  me 
Esther ;  and  such  a  stroke  must  be  made,  should  be 
made.  With  steady  steps  I  returned  to  the  priests' 
room. 

The  dotard  was  waiting  for  me,  and  he  came  for- 
ward, smiling  and  blinking  into  my  face,  searing  my 
soul  with  eyes  as  hard  as  agates. 

"I  am  going  to  the  Council,"  I  said  quietly. 

He  looked  at  me  in  terror.  He  seized  me  by  the 
arm. 

''No,  no,  no !"  he  exclaimed.  "You  are  to  go  to 
your  friends.    The  Council  is  not  in  session." 

"It  is  in  session.    I  have  been  held  for  it." 

"You  don't  understand.  That  is  the  Provincial 
Council.  This  is  a  matter  for  the  Federal  Council, 
and  Sanson  is  not  your  friend.  Don't  you  under- 
stand now?  Sanson  is  working  on  the  problem  of 
immortality  and  doesn't  suspect.  Boss  Lembken  is 
your  friend.     Don't  you  know  he  is  your  friend?" 

"No,"  I  answered  contemptuously. 

The  old  man  clutched  me  in  extreme  agitation. 

"If  you  are  headstrong  you  will  go  to  ruin,"  he 
cried.  "Boss  Lembken  is  your  friend.  He  sent  for 
you.  Not  Sanson.  Boss  Lembken  discovered  who 
you  were  while  Sanson  was  dreaming  over  his  vie- 


The  Lords  of  Misrule  139 


tims.  If  Sanson  knew  he  would  get  you  into  his 
power  and  overthrow  the  priesthood.  He  means  to 
destroy  the  Ant  and  have  no  god.  He  is  going  to 
mate  the  goddess  when  she  awakens — " 

He  saw  me  start  and  clench  my  fists,  and  a  deep- 
drawn  "Ah!"  of  reHef  came  from  his  hps.  For  I 
had  betrayed  my  identity  beyond  all  doubt;  and  it 
was  to  make  sure  of  this  that  I  had  been  sent  into 
the  Temple.    I  could  see  it  all  now. 

"Now  listen  to  me,"  he  said,  coming  near  and 
thrusting  his  repulsive  old  face  into  mine.  "Boss 
Lembken  wants  you.  He  wants  to  help  you  and 
give  you  power.  But  he  was  not  sure  of  you;  and 
so  he  had  to  use  craft  and  caution.  When  the  Mes- 
siah comes  Lembken  will  overthrow  Sanson  and 
make  the  world  free  again.  It  was  Lembken  who 
sent  for  you." 

He  was  becoming  incoherent  with  fright  at  my 
obduracy. 

"The  People's  House  is  above  the  Temple,"  he 
continued.  "Boss  Lembken  lives  there.  He  has  a 
beautiful  palace.  You  will  be  happy  there.  And 
Sanson  has  no  palace  and  no  delights.  He  wants 
nothing  except  to  vivisect  the  morons.  So  you  will 
not  want  to  go  to  Sanson.  He  can  offer  you  noth- 
ing. We  must  be  cautious,  and  if  he  is  in  the  Council 
Hall  we  must  wait  till  he  has  gone,  for  he  controls 
the  Guard,  and  if  he  saw  you  he  would  have  you 


140  TJie  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

seized.  That  is  why  I  gave  you  a  priest's  robes  — 
because  Sanson  dares  not  stop  the  priests,  who  are 
under  Lembken.     Come  with  me,  then." 

I  accompanied  him  out  into  the  gallery  above  the 
auditorium,  in  which  the  orators  were  still  declaim- 
ing to  a  lessening  crowd.  Sanson  or  Lembken,  it 
mattered  little  to  me.  I  felt  enmeshed  in  some  plot 
whose  meaning  was  incomprehensible.  But  I  meant 
to  win  Esther.  I  walked  like  a  somnambulist,  feeling 
that  the  dream  might  dissolve  at  any  moment.  A 
shaft  from  the  western  sun  struck  blood-red  on  a 
window.  A  pigeon  that  had  perched  among  the  col- 
umns fluttered  to  the  ground.  Above  me  I  saw  tier 
upon  tier  of  galleries. 

We  ascended  the  marble  stairway,  the  guards  mak- 
ing no  attempt  to  stop  us,  nor  were  we  challenged. 
I  noticed  that  they  were  armed  with  Ray  rods,  sim- 
ilar to  those  that  I  had  seen  in  the  cellar;  and  they 
raised  them  in  salutation  as  we  passed. 

We  ascended  flight  after  flight,  and  always  the 
guards  posted  at  the  top  of  each  saluted  us  and 
stepped  aside.  We  passed  across  a  little  covered 
bridge  and  presently  entered  a  small  rotunda,  in 
which  a  dozen  guards  were  seated,  sipping  coffee 
and  chatting  in  low  tones.  Behind  them  was  an 
immensely  high  door  marked  in  large  letters 

COUNCIL  HALL 
To  the  right  and  left  of  it  were  smaller  doors. 


The  Lords  of  Misrule  141 


We  entered  the  door  on  the  right,  and  the  priest, 
stopping,  whispered  to  me : 

''You  must  make  no  sound.  If  Sanson  is  in  Coun- 
cil he  must  not  discover  us." 

I  found  myself  in  a  small  room,  with  the  inevita- 
ble door  at  the  farther  end.  Upon  one  side  were  two 
apertures  in  the  wall,  disclosed  by  sliding  panels  that 
moved  noiselessly  —  spy-holes,  each  as  large  as  the 
bottom  of  a  teacup.  The  priest  stooped  before  one 
and  I  looked  through  the  other. 

The  immense  Council  Hall  was  dim,  and  it  took 
a  few  moments  for  my  eyes  to  grow  accustomed  to 
the  obscurity.  Then  I  saw  at  the  distant  end  a  raised 
platform,  on  which  stood  two  high  ^chairs,  like 
thrones. 

There  were  three  men  upon  this  platform,  one 
occupying  each  chair,  and  the  third  standing. 

One  was  unmistakably  Lembken,  the  obese  old 
boss  of  the  Federation.  He  wore  a  trailing  gown 
of  white,  with  a  short  mull  cape  about  his  shoulders, 
and  there  were  golden  ants  —  as  I  discovered  after- 
ward—  stamped  all  over  the  fabric.  He  was  lying 
rather  than  standing,  and  his  feet  rested  upon  a  stool. 
He  was  smiling  in  evil  fashion,  and  he  was  stout  to 
the  verge  of  disease.  I  could  not  see  his  face 
distinctly. 

Upon  the  second  throne  sat  a  man  with  a  fanatic's 
face  and  a  square  beard  of  black  that  swept  his 


142  TJie  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

breast.  He  had  a  large  ant  badge  on  either  shoulder 
of  his  white  gown,  and  on  one  finger  was  an  im- 
mensely heavy  ring  of  gold  that  projected  beyond 
the  knuckles.    This  was  the  Deputy  Chief  Priest. 

Standing  between  the  two  in  the  shadows,  lolling 
back  half-insolently  against  Boss  Lembken's  chair,  to 
whisper  in  his  ear,  and  again  turning  to  the  priest, 
was  Sanson.  I  could  not  mistake  the  whitening  hair 
brushed  back,  the  gestures  of  intense  pride  and 
power,  though  I  could  hardly  see  the  face.  He  wore 
a  tight  tunic  of  white,  without  a  badge,  and  he  bore 
himself  with  a  complete  absence  of  self -conscious- 
ness. There  was  not  a  trace  of  pose  in  the  complete- 
ness of  that  manifested  personality,  with  its  alert 
poise,  cat-like  and  tense,  as  if  each  nerve  and  sinew 
had  been  disciplined  to  serve  the  master-soul  within. 

As  I  watched  I  heard  a  strident,  metallic  voice  call 
in  loud  tones : 

"Wait  till  the  Goddess  awakens  and  the  Messiah 
comes!  He'll  make  an  end  of  Sanson  and  his  cru- 
elties, and  give  us  freedom  again!" 

Now  I  perceived  that  behind  Sanson  and  between 
the  two  thrones  stood  a  telephone  funnel,  attached 
to  some  mechanism.  It  was  from  this  that  the  voice 
had  issued.  It  was  followed  by  the  clacking  sound 
of  a  riband  of  paper  being  run  off  a  reel.  Sanson 
stepped  back,  picked  up  the  riband,  and  ran  it 
through  his  fingers,  glancing  at  it  indifferently. 


The  Lords  of  Misrule  143 

"The  speaker  lives  in  District  9,  Block  47,  but  we 
do  not  yet  know  his  name.  A  trapper  is  watching," 
said  the  voice  in  the  funnel. 

A  bell  rang,  the  door  on  the  left  of  the  Council 
Hall  was  opened  by  a  guard,  and  a  girl  of  about 
eighteen  entered.  She  was  robed  in  white  and  on 
her  shoulder  was  the  sign  of  a  palm  tree.  She  stood 
before  Boss  Lembken's  throne  with  downcast  face 
and  clasped  hands,  trembling  violently. 

"They  sent  for  me,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

I  saw  the  smile  deepen  on  Lembken's  face.  He 
sat  leering  at  her;  then  he  shifted  each  foot  down 
from  the  stool  and  gathered  himself,  puffing,  upon 
his  feet.  He  put  his  hand  under  her  chin  and  raised 
it,  looking  into  her  face.  The  girl  twisted  herself 
away,  screamed  and  began  running  toward  the 
door. 

"Let  me  go  home!     Please — please!"  she  cried. 

The  guard  at  the  door  placed  one  hand  over  her 
mouth  and  dragged  her,  struggling,  through  a  small 
door  behind  the  funnel,  which  I  had  not  seen. 

I  clenched  my  fists;  only  the  thought  of  Esther 
held  me  where  I  was. 

"Ascribe  the  heretics,"  said  Lembken  to  the  dep- 
uty priest,  and  puffed  out  behind  the  guard. 

Sanson  stepped  backward  and  touched  the  funnel 
mechanism,  which  instantly  began  to  scream. 

"Heresy  in  the  paper  shops !"  it  howled.    "Exam- 


144         The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

ine  District  5.  They  say  there  is  a  God.  Weed  out 
the  morons  there!" 

The  writing  mechanism  began  to  clack  again.  I 
saw  the  paper  riband  coil  like  a  snake  along  the  floor 
between  the  thrones.  Sanson  stopped  the  machine, 
which  was  beginning  to  screech  once  more.  He 
moved  to  the  vacant  throne  and  sat  down. 

Again  the  bell  tinkled,  and  there  came  in  a  m.an 
of  about  thirty  years,  in  blue,  leading  a  little  boy  by 
the  hand.  He  looked  about  him  in  bewilderment, 
and  then,  seeing  the  priest,  flung  himself  on  his 
knees  and  pressed  his  lips  to  the  hem  of  his  robe. 

*Tt  is  not  true  that  I  am  a  heretic,  as  they  say,"  he 
babbled.  *T  believe  in  Science  Supreme,  and  Force 
and  Matter,  coexistent  and  consubstantial,  accord- 
ing to  the  Vienna  Creed,  and  in  the  Boss,  the  Keeper 
of  Knowledge.  That  man  dies  as  the  beast  dies. 
And  that  we  are  immortal  in  the  germ-plasm, 
through  our  descendants.  I  believe  in  Darwin, 
Hseckel,  and  Wells,  who  brought  us  to  enlighten- 
ment— " 

"That  boy  is  a  moron!'*  screamed  Sanson,  inter- 
rupting the  man's  parrot-rote  by  leaping  from  his 
chair. 

He  dragged  the  child  from  the  father,  switched 
on  the  solar  light,  and  set  him  down,  peering  into 
his  face.  He  took  the  child's  head  between  his  hands 
and  scanned  it.    His  expression  was  transformed;  he 


The  Lords  of  Misrule  145 


looked  like  a  madman.  And  then  I  realized  that  the 
man  was  really  mad ;  a  madman  ruled  the  world,  as 
in  the  time  of  Caligula. 

The  father  crept  humbly  toward  Sanson;  he  was 
shaking  pitiably. 

''He  is  a  Grade  2  defective,"  he  whispered.  ''You 
don't  take  Grade  2  from  the  parents.  He  is  Grade  2 
—  the  doctors  said  so  — "  He  repeated  this  over  and 
over,  standing  with  hands  clasped  and  staring  eyes. 

"I  say  he  is  a  moron!"  Sanson  shouted.  "The 
doctors  are  fools.  He  is  a  brach.  Look  at  that  index 
and  that  angle !  Look  at  the  cranium,  asymmetrical 
here  —  and  here!  The  fingers  flex  too  far  apart,  a 
proof  of  deficiency.  The  ears  project  at  different 
angles,  my  eighth  stigma  of  degeneracy.  He  is  a 
moron  of  the  third  grade,  and  must  go  to  the 
Vivi— " 

With  an  unhuman  scream  the  father  leaped  at  San- 
son and  flung  him  to  the  ground,  snatched  up  the 
boy  in  his  arms  and  began  running  toward  the  door. 
From  his  throne  the  priest  looked  on  impassively;  it 
was  no  business  of  his.     The  guard  appeared. 

But  before  the  man  reached  the  guard  at  the  door 
Sanson  had  leaped  to  his  feet  and  pulled  a  Ray  rod 
from  his  tunic.  He  pointed  it.  I  heard  the  catch 
click.  A  stream  of  blinding,  purple-white  light 
flashed  forth.  I  heard  the  carpet  rip  as  if  a  sword 
had  slashed  it.    A  chip  of  wood  flew  high  into  the 


146  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

air.  On  the  floor  lay  two  charred,  unrecognizable 
bodies. 

I  confess  my  only  impulse  then  was  of  fear.  How 
could  I  confront  that  devil,  or  Lembken,  in  his  hell, 
when  for  Esther's  sake  I  must  be  cautious  and  wise  ? 
I  plunged  toward  the  farther  door.  The  priest  caught 
at  me,  but  I  shook  him  off  and  flung  him,  stunned, 
to  the  floor.    I  opened  the  door  and  rushed  through. 

I  was  amazed  to  find  myself  upon  a  long,  slender 
bridge  that  spanned  the  central  court  of  the  vast 
structure.  I  stopped,  bewildered,  not  knowing  where 
to  turn,  and  the  whole  scene  burned  itself  upon  my 
brain  in  an  instant. 

The  immense  mass  was  divided  into  four  separate 
buildings.  The  Council  Hall,  from  which  I  had 
emerged,  was  on  the  southern  side,  and,  looking 
beyond  it,  I  saw  the  Thames,  winding  like  a  silver 
riband  into  the  distance.  Facing  me  was  the  north 
wing,  by  which  I  had  entered,  containing  the  Vivi- 
section Bureau  and  other  halls  of  nameless  horrors, 
with  Sanson's  quarters.  On  my  left  hand  the  Temple 
towered  high  over  me.  Above  my  head  I  saw  the 
outlines  of  the  noble  dome,  and  the  palm  trees  be- 
hind their  crystal  walls.  A  blood-red  creeper  trailed 
down  through  a  chink  in  the  wall. 

Upon  my  right  was  a  massive  fortress  that  I  had 
not  hitherto  perceived,  floating  above  which  was  a 
whole  fleet  of  airships,  evidently  the  same  that  I 


The  Lords  of  Misrule  147 

had  seen  when  I  flew  into  London.  There  must 
have  been  more  than  a  hundred  of  them,  ranging 
from  tiny  scoutplanes  to  huge  monsters  with  glow 
shields  about  them,  projecting  conical  machines  like 
those  that  studded  the  top  of  the  enclosing  wall,  but 
smaller.  On  their  prows  w^ere  great  jaws  of  steel, 
in  some  cases  closed,  in  others  distended,  fifteen  feet 
of  projecting  jaw  and  mandible,  capable,  as  it  looked, 
of  crushing  steel  plate  like  eggshells. 

The  bridge  on  which  I  stood  ran  from  the  Council 
Hall  to  the  wing  where  Sanson  dwelled.  A  bridge 
from  the  Temple  building  ran  straight  to  the  fortress 
of  the  airships  at  right  angles  to  this,  the  two  thus 
crossing,  forming  a  little  enclosed  space  in  the  center. 
At  various  spots,  bridges  from  the  enclosing  fortress 
crossed  the  court  and  entered  the  pile  of  buildings. 
And  the  whole  concept  was  so  beautiful  that  even 
then  I  stopped  to  gaze. 

But  I  did  not  know  whither  to  turn.  In  front  of 
me,  where  the  bridge  entered  Sanson's  wing,  a  guard 
stood  watching  me.  As  I  approached  the  central 
place  where  the  two  bridges  met  he  raised  his  Ray- 
rod  with  a  threatening  gesture. 

I  turned  to  the  right.  Here,  where  the  bridge 
from  the  Temple  entered  the  fort  of  the  airships,  I 
saw  an  airscout  in  blue,  with  the  white  swan  on  his 
breast,  watching  me.  Again  I  stopped.  My  mind 
was  awhirl  with  the  horrors  that  I  had  seen ;  I  could 


148  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

not  think!  I  did  not  know  what  to  do.  All  exit 
seemed  barred  to  me  except  that  whereby  I  had  come. 

Beneath  me  lay  the  court,  a  broad  expanse  of 
white,  inlaid  with  geometrical  figures  of  green  grass. 
On  it  crawled  tiny  figures  in  blue.  I  was  halfway 
between  the  court  below  and  the  Temple  dome  above ; 
yet  everything  was  so  still  that  the  voices  below  came 
up  to  me. 

A  group  had  gathered,  chattering  excitedly,  about 
something  that  lay  hard  by  the  Temple  entrance.  As 
they  moved  this  way  and  that  I  saw  that  it  had  been 
a  woman.  She  had  been  young;  her  garments  had 
been  white ;  there  was  a  gold  palm  on  a  torn-off  frag- 
ment that  a  gust  of  wind  drove  up  toward  me.  I 
caught  at  it,  but  it  went  sailing  past  and  fluttered 
down  in  the  central  court  between  the  buildings. 

I  saw  the  spectators  look  up  toward  the  aerial 
gardens.  The  blood-red  creeping  vine  now  swung 
from  an  open  crystal  door.  That  paradise  of  tropic 
beauty,  those  flame-colored  flowers  were  such  as 
blossom  in  hell. 

The  crystal  door  above  me  clashed  to  and  reopened 
as  the  wind  caught  it.  It  seemed  to  clang  rhythmic- 
ally, like  a  clear  tocsin,  high  up  beneath  the  dome,  a 
bell  of  doom  to  warn  the  blood-stained  city.  Again 
it  sounded  like  a  workman's  hammer;  and  the 
silence  that  covered  everything  made  the  sounds 
more  ominous  and  dread,  as  if  Fate  were  ham- 


The  Lords  of  Misrule  149 

mering  out  the  minutes  remaining  before  she  slashed 
her  thread. 

An  old  man  pushed  his  way  through  the  gather- 
ing crowd.  He  peered  into  the  white  face,  and 
wrung  his  hands,  and  wept,  and  his  voice  rose  in  a 
high,  penetrating  wail. 

''It'll  all  be  ended,"  I  heard  him  cry.  "I  can't  work 
now.  I  can't  make  up  my  time.  I've  spent  my  credit 
margin.  I'm  old  and  outed  and  done  with.  I'll  have 
to  go  to  the  Comfortable  Bedroom." 

It  was  the  old  man  whom  I  had  seen  earlier  that 
day.  The  crowd  jeered  and  pressed  forward,  those 
who  were  behind  craning  their  necks  and  rising  on 
their  toes  to  see  the  joint  spectacle  of  death  and  grief. 
The  old  man  shook  his  gnarled  fist  at  his  dead 
daughter. 

''You've  killed  me,"  he  sobbed  in  rage.  "Why 
couldn't  you  have  stayed  up  there  till  Sanson  has 
made  us  all  immortal  ?  I'm  going  to  the  Comfortable 
Bedroom  now,  and  my  body  will  die  like  a  beast's, 
and  I'll  be  ended." 

And  he  broke  into  atrocious  curses,  while  the 
crowd  screamed  with  delight  and  mocked  his  passion. 

The  little  gate  on  the  inner  side  of  the  fort  opened, 
and  a  troop  of  the  Guard  emerged,  carrying  a 
stretcher.  At  the  sight  of  them  the  mob  scuttled 
away.  The  guards  picked  up  the  body  and  carried 
it  within  the  gate.    One  began  scattering  sand. 


150  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

Out  of  the  crowd  leaped  an  old  man  with  flowing 
hair  and  beard.  He  stood  out  in  the  court  and  shook 
his  fist  toward  the  Temple  dome. 

"Woe  to  you,  accursed  city !"  he  screamed.  "Woe 
to  you  in  the  day  of  judgment !  Woe  to  your  whites 
and  harlots  when  the  judgment  comes!" 

The  crystal  door  banged  and  clashed  open.  A 
woman  in  white  put  out  her  hand  and  closed  it.  A 
latch-click  pricked  the  air.  The  sun  gilded  the  dome 
and  turned  it  to  a  ball  of  fire.  Down  in  the  court 
the  madman  cried  unceasingly. 


"Woe  to  you,  accursed  city  !"  he  screamed, 
to   your   whites   and   harlots 


v\^oe  to  you  in  the  day  of  judgment!     Woe 
hen   the    judgment    comes !" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE    PALACE    OF    PALMS 

npHE  sun  dipped  behind  the  western  buildings, 
and  the  glare  of  the  glow  on  fort  and  Temple 
and  encircling  wall  was  like  phosphorescent  fire.  I 
saw  the  guards  stirring  in  their  enclosure.  The 
Airscouts'  Fortress  shone,  hard  and  brilliant,  against 
the  sky. 

I  gathered  my  wits  together.  I  had  seen  the  hid- 
den things,  and,  because  I  knew  of  none  other  to 
whom  to  turn,  I  resolved  to  appeal  to  David.  Esther, 
the  prey  of  these  insane  degenerates  when  she 
awakened  ....  David's  own  secret  troubles  .... 
could  we  not  aid  each  other?  Might  not  two  men 
accomplish  something  in  these  evil  days  ? 

I  turned  to  the  right  across  the  bridge  that  led  to 
the  Airscouts'  Fortress.  The  sentinel  stood  still, 
watching  me.  He  raised  his  Ray  rod,  not  to  threaten 
me,  but  to  salute,  and  I  remembered  that  the  air- 
scouts had  no  love  for  the  Guard,  and  hence  must 
be  under  Lembken's  control.  He  took  me  for  a 
priest.  But  the  weapon  shook  in  his  hand,  and  the 
astonishment  upon  his  face  matched  that  on  mine. 
I  recognized  the  man  Jones,  who  had  brought  me 
to  London. 

151 


152  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

"I  want  to  leave  this  hell !"  I  cried.  'Which  way  ? 
Which  way?" 

"You  want  —  you  want  —  ?"  he  stammered. 

''The  Strangers'  House.    I  am  lost  here — " 

He  looked  at  me  in  utter  perplexity. 

"Help  me!"  I  pleaded.     "Show  me  the  way!" 

The  door  behind  him  opened,  and  there  stepped 
out  a  man  of  about  fifty  years,  dressed  in  white, 
with  a  golden  swan  on  each  shoulder.  Jones  stepped 
aside  and  saluted  him.  The  newcomer  approached 
me.  His  hard,  clean-shaven  face  was  impenetrable, 
and  his  eyes  burned  with  a  dull  lire.  Behind  him 
crept  a  second  figure;  it  was  the  old  priest. 

"There  he  is!     Seize  him!"  he  shrieked. 

The  first  man  laid  his  hand  on  my  shoulder.  "I 
am  Air-Admiral  Hancock,"  he  said,  "^ou  are  to 
accompany  me  to  Boss  Lembken." 

I  went  with  him  across  the  bridge  into  a  doorway 
set 'in  the  west  side  of  the  Temple  building.  I  ex- 
pected again  to  see  the  vast  interior  beneath  me,  but 
we  entered  a  narrow  corridor  and  stepped  into  a 
small  automatic  elevator.  In  a  moment  we  had  shot 
up  and  halted  inside  the  Palace  entrance.  Hancock 
opened  the  door  of  the  cage. 

We  were  standing  in  a  spacious  hall,  hare,  save  for 
the  hanging  tapestries  and  heavy  Persian  rugs  on  the 
mosaic  floor.  It  was  half  dark,  and  there  was  a  per- 
fume that  made  my  head  swim.   Before  the  curtained 


The  Palace  of  Palms  153 


aperture  opposite  us  stood  a  negro  boy,  with  a  Ray 
rod  in  his  hand.  As  we  approached  he  threw  the 
curtain  aside  and  saluted  us. 

There  were  soft  solar  lights  in  the  next  room, 
which  was  rose-red,  and  decorated  and  furnished  in 
the  style  of  Louis  Quatorze.  Another  negro  stood  in 
the  doorway  opposite ;  he,  too,  saluted  and  threw  the 
curtain  back. 

The  third  room  was  enameled  in  blue.  The  blue 
lights  gave  it  an  unearthly  aspect,  which  was  in- 
creased by  the  baroque  style  of  its  ornamentation. 
The  perfume  was  stronger. 

The  negro  at  the  door  of  the  fourth  room  was  a 
giant.  He  wore  the  uniform  of  an  eighteenth  cen- 
tury grenadier.  His  scarlet  coat  and  white  pigtail 
formed  vivid  spots  against  the  dull-gold  curtain. 
The  room  within  was  dark.  We  waited  on  the 
threshold. 

At  first  I  could  see  nothing.  Then,  gradually,  the 
outlines  of  the  room  came  into  sight.  There  were 
low  divans  and  rugs,  and  mirrors  on  every  wall  mul- 
tiplied them.  I  heard  a  rasping  sound,  and  a  blotch 
of  crimson  and  green  became  a  brilliant  macaw  that 
scraped  its  way  with  its  sharp  claws  from  end  to  end 
of  a  horizontal  perch.  Behind  it  I  now  saw  the  white 
gleam  of  Lembken's  robe;  then  the  couch  on  which 
he  lay ;  then  the  girl  who  crouched,  fanning  him,  at 
his  feet;  then  the  rotund  form  of  the  old  man,  the 


154  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

sharp  eyes  and  the  heavy  jowl  with  the  pendulous 
cheeks. 

'*I  have  executed  your  orders,  Boss,"  said  the  Air- 
Admiral. 

The  old  man  rose  upon  his  feet  heavily  and 
came  puffing  up  to  us.  His  heavy  soft  hands 
wandered  about  my  robes,  patting  me  here  and 
there,  while  he  puffed  and  snorted  like  some  sea 
monster. 

''You  haven't  a  knife  or  a  Ray  rod?"  he  inquired 
suspiciously.  "You  haven't  anything  to  harm  me? 
I  am  an  old,  weak  man.  I  am  the  people's  friend, 
and  yet  many  want  to  kill  me." 

He  seemed  to  satisfy  himself  with  the  result  of  his 
inspection,  and  withdrew  to  his  couch,  picking  up  a 
Ray  rod  and  resting  it  across  his  knee. 

He  dismissed  Hancock  and  the  girl.  She  rose  to 
her  feet  briskly,  with  a  mechanical  smile.  She  was 
about  twenty  years  old,  it  seemed  to  me,  but  there 
was  a  hardness  and  cruelty  about  her  mouth  that 
shocked  me,  and  the  soul  behind  the  mask  of  youth 
seemed  centuries  old. 

"Amaranth  wanted  to  stay,  to  hear  what  I  was 
going  to  say  to  you,"  said  Lembken,  "but  I  make 
everybody  mind  his  own  business  in  the  People's 
House.  Besides,  she  might  have  fallen  in  love  with 
you.  I  like  to  have  good-looking  people  about  me." 
He  looked  at  me  and  at  the  Ray  rod,  and  then  at  me 


The  Palace  of  Palms  155 

again;  then,  with  a  petulant  gesture,  he  sent  the 
weapon  flying  across  the  room. 

"There!  You  see  I  trust  you!"  he  said,  smiling. 
"Sit  down  beside  me.  We  understand  each  other,  so 
we  will  be  frank.  Men  such  as  we  are  above  decep- 
tions. You  ought  to  be  about  a  hundred  and  twenty- 
eight  years  old!" 

He  spoke  jocularly,  and  yet  I  could  see  that  he 
wished  to  be  sure  I  was  the  man  he  sought.  Evi- 
dently he  knew  my  history.  He  heaved  a  sigh  of 
immense  satisfaction  when  I  acquiesced. 

"I  was  not  sure  it  was  you,"  he  said.  "One  has 
to  be  cautious  when  so  much  depends  on  it.  And 
Sanson  was  beginning  to  suspect,  but  he  does  not 
know  that  I  discovered  Lazaroff's  papers.  Sanson 
does  not  know  everything,  you  see,  Arnold.  What 
do  you  think  of  his  Rest  Cure,  as  the  people  term  it? 
It  is  his,  not  mine,  you  know." 

"I  think  he  is  Satan  himself,"  I  answered  quickly. 
Yet  I  w^as  not  sure  that  I  preferred  this  perfumed 
degenerate  to  Sanson,  with  his  maniac  cruelty. 

A  smile  crept  over  the  flabby  face.  Lembken 
looked  pleased.  He  placed  his  hand  upon  my 
shoulder. 

"A  classical  scholar,"  he  said.  "You  refer  to  the 
mythical  ruler  of  the  infernal  realms.  Assuredly  we 
shall  soon  understand  each  other.  Sanson  is  a  strong 
man.     When  I  meet  strong"  men  I  let  them  be  as 


156  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

strong  as  they  want  to  be.  They  break  themselves 
to  pieces.  In  a  democracy  Hke  ours  there  is  no  room 
for  strong  men.  Sanson  doesn't  understand  that. 
He  thinks  the  Mayor  of  the  Palace  is  going  to  step 
into  the  shoes  of  the  Roi  Faineant.  But  the  Roi 
Faineant  always  wins  —  if  he  sits  still.  I  am  the  Roi 
Faineant." 

I  was  so  amazed  at  the  strange  psychology  he  was 
disclosing  that  I  found  no  answer  ready.  I  knew  he 
was  dissembling  some  deep-laid  purpose,  but  why 
he  had  need  of  me  I  could  not  imagine.  And  the 
man's  affectation  of  good- will  almost  began  to 
delude  me. 

'*Do  you  like  David's  daughter?"  he  began,  so 
suddenly  that  I  started.  "Ah !"  he  continued,  shak- 
ing his  finger  waggishly,  "one  seldom  sees  a  woman 
approximating  so  closely  to  the  Sanson  norm.  There 
is  an  attachment,  if  I  know  young  men.  Flow 
would  you  like  her  for  your  own  ?  I  hit  the  mark,, 
then?" 

Before  I  could  reply  he  was  on  another  tack. 

"Now,  there  is  Hancock,"  he  resumed.  "He  is  a 
Christian,  and  ought  to  go  to  the  defectives'  shops, 
according  to  the  law  Sanson  made.  But  I  don't  care. 
I  would  just  as  soon  have  Christianity  as  the  Ant,  or 
Mormonism,  as  they  have  in  America.  I  don't  like 
tyranny.  HI  had  my  way  everyone  would  be  per- 
fectly free.     Sanson  doesn't  see  that  he  has  embit- 


The  Palace  of  Palms  157 

tered  the  people.    He  is  harrying  them  with  his  laws, 
and  they  blame  me.    I  am  the  people's  friend." 

With  a  sudden,  hoarse  scream  the  macaw  flew 
from  the  bar  and  perched  on  Lembken's  shoulder, 
where  she  sat,  preening  her  plumage  and  croaking 
at  me.  ''The  people's  friend,"  she  screamed,  and 
broke  into  choking  laughter. 

''So  you  see  it  is  entirely  to  your  interest  to  help 
me  and  not  Sanson,"  Lembken  continued.  "Reason- 
able men  cement  their  friendships  with  self-interest. 
Come,  let  me  look  at  you." 

He  touched  some  switch  near  him,  and  the  room 
was  illuminated  with  a  blaze  of  solar  light.  The 
golden  ants  upon  his  robes  leaped  into  view.  He 
turned  on  the  divan  heavily  and  stared  into  my 
face. 

"Yes,  I  can  trust  you,"  he  said  in  approbation. 
"Well,  Sanson  will  learn  his  error  in  four  days'  time. 
You  shall  live  here  with  me  and  have  a  life  of  pleas- 
ure. You  need  never  think  about  the  world  below. 
We  do  exactly  what  we  please ;  that  is  my  rule  in  the 
People's  House." 

"The  People's  House !"  screamed  the  macaw,  leav- 
ing his  shoulder  and  fluttering  back  to  her  perch, 
from  which  she  surveyed  us  coldly,  head  on  one  side. 
"The  People's  House !  The  people's  friend !"  she 
alternated,  in  a  muttering  diminuendo. 

"My  head  aches  today,"  said  Lembken  petulantly. 


158  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

"That  is  why  I  am  sitting  here.  There  has  been  an 
accident:  one  of  our  ladies  fell  down  through  an 
open  door.     It  made  my  head  ache." 

I  knew  he  lied  when  he  spoke  of  an  accident.  I 
knew  that  she  had  thrown  herself  down.  The  lie 
brought  back  my  mind  to  its  focus;  and  in  that 
instant  my  lips  were  sealed,  and  my  half- formed 
intent  to  throw  myself  on  Lembken's  mercy,  plead- 
ing for  Esther  and  our  love,  died. 

"So  we  shall  talk  tomorrow,"  Lembken  continued. 
"For  the  present  you  are  one  of  us.  You  see  your 
interest  lies  in  joining  us,  and  the  part  you  have  to 
play  in  return  will  be  short  and  not  difficult  for  a 
man  of  your  discernment.  That  small  part  will  be 
paid,  four  days  hence — '' 

I  was  sure  that  it  concerned  Esther  now.  "And 
will  be  all,  and  afterward  your  life  will  be  free  from 
all  laws  and  bonds.  You  never  need  leave  the 
People's  House  unless  you  want  to.  Here  every- 
one does  as  he  pleases.  Come,  Arnold,  I  will  show 
you  the  gardens." 

He  stood  up,  puffing,  and  gave  me  his  arm  like  an 
old  friend.  The  man's  manners  were  fascinating. 
I  could  well  understand  how  he  had  worked  his  way 
to  power.  There  was  the  good-fellowship  of  the 
twentieth-century  demagogue,  but  there  was  more; 
there  was  discernment  and  culture;  and  there  was 
more  still ;  there  was  a  corrupting  influence  about  his 


The  Palace  of  Palms  159 


candor  that  seemed  to  strike  its  deadly  roots  down 
into  my  moral  nature  and  shrivel  it. 

We  passed  out  through  the  empty  rooms.  The 
Palace  was  level  with  the  Temple  roof ;  there  were 
no  steps.  There  was  no  stairway  at  all,  for  the  whole 
structure,  which  seemed  to  extend  from  side  to  side 
of  the  vast  roof,  consisted  of  a  single  story.  We 
passed  out  between  two  giant  negroes,  who  stood 
like  ebony  statues.  And  now  I  saw  that  the  four 
rooms  in  which  I  had  been,  comprised  only  the  small- 
est portion  of  the  building,  which  was  set  out  irregu- 
larly, receding  here  to  leave  space  for  a  little  lawn, 
projecting  there,  evidently  to  enclose  a  garden.  And 
I  discovered  why  the  interior  was  so  dark ;  there  were 
no  windows  —  at  least,  on  this  side  of  the  Palace. 

It  was  a  fairyland.  I  thought  of  the  old  palaces  at 
Capri.  Here,  high  above  the  swarming  streets,  a 
man  might  take  his  pleasure  in  ease  indeed.  The 
crystal  walls  must  have  been  sound-proof,  for  not  a 
murmur  from  below  reached  us.  I  heard  the  music 
of  bubbling  brooks,  the  cries  of  birds  among  the 
trees,  the  faint  tinkle  of  a  guitar  or  mandolin  struck 
somewhere  in  the  recesses  of  the  ramified  buildings. 

We  were  traversing  a  graveled  path  that  ran 
between  the  Palace  and  the  crystal  wall.  Looking 
down,  I  could  see  the  glow  circle  of  the  fortress. 
It  had  grown  dark ;  the  lights  which  lit  our  way,  that 
I  had  thought  daylight,  were  from  the  solar  vents. 


160  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

concealed  so  skilfully  that  they  shed  a  soft,  diffused 
radiance  everywhere,  as  of  afternoon.  We  turned 
the  angle  of  the  building,  and  I  stopped  short 
and  looked  in  involuntary  admiration  at  the  scene 
before  me. 

We  might  have  stepped  into  the  heart  of  some 
Amazonian  forest,  for  we  were  in  a  tangled  wilder- 
ness of  palms  and  other  tropical  trees.  The  air  was 
filled  with  the  scent  of  orange  flowers,  and  in  a  grove 
near  me  clusters  of  the  bright  fruit  hung  from  the 
weighted  boughs.  From  the  dank  earth  sprang  clus- 
ters of  exotic,  flaming  flowers,  and  ferns.  Huge 
vines  knotted  themselves  about  the  trunks  of  trees, 
through  whose  recesses  flew  flocks  of  brilliantly 
plumaged  birds.  The  path  became  a  trail,  meander- 
ing between  the  trees  and  crossing  rushing  brooklets. 
The  vast  concavity  of  the  dome  above  was  like  an 
arched  heaven  of  blue,  studded  with  golden  stars. 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  People's  House, 
Arnold?"  Lembken  inquired,  turning  heavily  upon 
me. 

*Tt  is  a  paradise,"  I  answered. 

I  was  amazed  to  see  two  tears  roll  down  his  cheeks. 
It  was  the  same  strange  yielding  to  emotional  impulse 
that  I  had  discerned  before.  So  might  Nero  have 
wept  over  his  fiddle. 

*Tt  is  the  reward  of  those  who  are  the  chosen  of 
the  people,"  he  answered.    'Tt  will  be  your  reward, 


The  Palace  of  Palms  161 

Arnold.  You  must  dream  over  this  tonight,  and 
tomorrow  we  will  make  our  compact.  I  have  re- 
served quarters  for  you.  You  will  meet  nobody  you 
do  not  wish  to  meet.  That  is  the  chief  charm  of  the 
People's  House;  we  meet  only  for  our  festivities; 
otherwise  we  are  quite  free.     Come,  Arnold !" 

The  scene,  the  atmosphere,  the  fearful  personality 
of  Lembken  seemed  to  appeal  to  some  being  in  me 
whose  hideous  presence  I  had  never  suspected.  A 
deadly  inertia  of  the  spirit  was  conquering  me. 
Esther,  my  love  of  a  hundred  years,  became  in  mem- 
ory elusive  as  a  dream  to  me.  The  sensuous  appeal 
of  this  wonderland  swept  over  me. 

We  had  threaded  the  recesses  of  the  groves,  pass- 
ing secluded  arbors  of  twisted  vines,  pergolas  and 
rustic  cottages  about  which  clung  the  scarlet  trum- 
pets of  pomegranate  flowers;  now  the  crystal  walls 
came  into  sight  again,  and,  as  we  approached,  a  gust 
of  wind  blew  the  door  open.  Instantly,  to  divert 
my  senses  from  that  soul-destroying  dominance, 
there  rushed  in,  the  murmurs  of  the  city,  the  voices 
of  the  multitude  below,  and,  above  all,  clear  and  dis- 
tinct, the  wild  accents  of  the  whitebeard,  who  had 
denounced  the  pleasure-palace  that  afternoon. 

"Woe  to  you,  London,  when  your  whitecoats  sit 
with  their  harlots  in  the  high  places !    Woe !    Woe !" 

I  could  not  see  him ;  through  the  door  I  saw  only 
the  circle  of  the  enclosing  walls,  a  luminous  orb 


162  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

beneath,  and  the  glare  of  the  huge  Ray  guns;  beyond 
were  the  mighty  buildings.  Lembken  put  out  his 
hand  and  closed  the  door.  The  voices  were  cut  off 
into  silence.  I  glanced  at  him,  but  his  brow  was 
untroubled  and  serene. 

He  led  me  across  a  little,  shelving  lawn,  through 
a  small  gateway.  There  was  nobody  in  the  tiny  close, 
surrounded  by  a  high  marble  wall.  There  were  no 
windows  in  the  little  house  before  me.  It  might  have 
held  two  rooms. 

'Three  rooms,"  said  Lembken,  as  if  he  had  read 
my  thoughts.  ''Good  night,  Arnold.  Remember, 
we  do  what  we  like  to  do  in  the  People's  House. 
There  are  no  laws,  no  bonds.  Dream  of  this  para- 
dise that  shall  be  yours,  and  open  the  third  door 
softly." 

He  left  me.  I  pushed  the  first  door  open  and 
entered. 

It  was  a  bedroom,  furnished  in  the  conventional 
style  which  had  not  changed  appreciably  during  the 
century,  but  all  in  ebony  or  teak,  and  luxurious 
almost  beyond  conception.  The  floor  was  covered 
with  a  thick-piled  Bokhara  rug,  of  r^d  and  ivory, 
and  exquisite  texture. 

I  passed  through  the  inevitable  swing  door.  The 
second  room  was  fitted  as  a  combination  library  and 
dining-room.  There  was  an  ebony  bookcase,  filled 
with  magnificently   bound  books,   a  sideboard   on 


The  Palace  of  Palms  163 

which  stood  wines  and  distilled  liquors,  a  heavy 
dining-table,  arm-chairs. 

This  room  had  a  window,  and,  looking  out,  I  was 
surprised  to  see  beneath  me  the  bridge  that  led  to  the 
Airscouts'  Fortress,  and,  at  the  end  of  it,  a  figure  in 
blue,  the  white  swan  on  his  breast  brilliant  in  the 
glare  of  the  solar  light  over  his  head. 

I  passed  on.  But  instead  of  the  swing  door  the 
further  wall  contained  a  door  of  heavy,  iron-bound 
wood,  with  bolts  of  steel.  Then  I  remembered  Lemb- 
ken's  words :  ''Open  the  third  door  softly." 

The  bolts  moved  in  their  sockets  with  hardly  a 
sound.  I  drew  them ;  I  opened  the  door  and  passed 
into  a  tiny  chamber. 

A  girl  in  white,  with  the  palm  badge  upon  her 
shoulder,  was  standing  there.  The  room  had  been 
dark;  the  sudden  influx  of  the  solar  light  from  the 
library  showed  me  the  pallid  face  and  blazing  eyes 
of  her  whom  I  had  least  thought  to  see  before  me  — 
Elizabeth ! 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE    HOUSE    ON    THE    WALL 

QHE  stared  at  me  with  eyes  that  seemed  to  see 
nothing;  and  then  a  look  of  recognition  came 
into  them,  and  a  twitching  smile  upon  her  lips.  She 
put  her  arms  out  and  came  unsteadily  toward  me. 
She  threw  her  right  arm  back.  I  caught  her  hand 
as  it  swung  downward,  and  the  dagger's  razor  edge 
grazed  my  shoulder. 

The  next  moment  she  was  fighting  like  a  trapped 
panther.  I  could  not  have  imagined  that  such 
strength  and  fierceness  existed  in  any  woman.  She 
twisted  her  wrists  out  of  my  grasp  time  and  again, 
and  we  wrestled  for  the  dagger  till  the  blood  from 
my  slashed  fingers  fouled  my  priest's  robe.  Each 
of  the  stabbing  blows  she  dealt  so  wildly  would 
have  driven  the  dagger  in  to  the  hilt. 

I  grappled  with  her,  caught  her  right  arm  at  last, 
and  forced  it  upward,  but  we  swayed  to  and  fro 
for  nearly  a  minute  before  I  mastered  her.  Even 
then  she  had  one  last  surprise  in  store,  for,  when 
she  saw  that  she  was  beaten,  she  drew  her  dagger 
hand  quickly  backward,  and  I  seized  the  point  of  the 
blade  within  an  inch  of  her  breast.  I  forced  her 
fingers  open  brutally,  and  the  steel  fell  to  the  floor. 

164 


The  House  on  the  Wall  165 

Then  she  wrested  herself  away,  and  crouched  in  the 
corner,  watching  me,  motionless,  but  still  ready  to 
leap.  Her  gasping  breaths  were  the  only  sound  in 
the  room. 

''EHzabeth!"  I  cried.  **I  am  not  here  to  harm 
you.    Look  at  me ;  listen  to  me !" 

Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  my  face  in  terror  that  pre- 
cluded speech.  How  she  watched  me!  Only  once 
did  her  glance  waver,  and  that  was  toward  the  dag- 
ger on  the  floor.  I  kicked  it  backward  with  my 
heel. 

^'Elizabeth,  listen  to  me!"  I  implored  her.  "I  did 
not  know  that  you  were  here,  and  I  do  not  know 
how  you  came  here.  I  want  to  help  you.  I  want  to 
take  you  home  to  David !" 

''Ah!"  she  said,  shuddering.  ''This  is  what  you 
whites  call  a  romance  in  the  style  of  the  first  century 
B.C.,  a  fashionable  pastime,  to  dress  yourselves  as 
blues  or  grays  and  worm  your  way  into  the  homes 
of  your  prospective  victims,  in  order  to  study  them, 
and  see  whether  they  suit  your  taste  and  are  worth 
adding  to  your  collection.  I  have  read  of  that  in 
the  Council  factory  novels.  But  there  was  never 
any  romance  in  it  to  me.  So  I  appeared  to  suit 
you,  after  my  father  had  taken  you  into  his  home 
so  trustingly?  You  deceived  him;  but  you  never 
deceived  me." 

I  saw  her  glance  turn  to  the  dagger  again. 


166         The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

"Elizabeth,  you  are  talking  nonsense/'  I  said,  with 
an  affectation  of  brusqueness.  ''Let  us  sit  down  in 
the  next  room,  and  I  propose  a  compact.  You  shall 
take  the  dagger,  provided  you  do  not  attempt  to 
harm  yourself  with  it  till  you  have  heard  me.  Is  that 
agreed  ?" 

She  scrutinized  me  for  half  a  minute.  Then  she 
nodded.  I  preceded  her  into  the  library  with  an 
affectation  of  indifference  which  I  was  far  from 
feeling,  for  I  heard  her  stoop  to  pick  the  dagger  up, 
and  wondered  each  instant  whether  I  was  about  to 
feel  the  point  between  my  shoulders.  However,  my 
faith  appeared  to  inspire  her  with  a  measure  of  con- 
fidence, for  she  followed  me  into  the  middle  room 
and  consented  to  sit  down. 

But  when  I  faced  her,  toying  with  the  blade  and 
all  aquiver  with  the  reaction  from  the  terrific  nerve- 
tension,  I  could  hardly  find  words  to  utter.  What- 
ever purpose  Lembken  might  have  in  using  me,  I  had 
the  full  measure  of  his  mind.  He  had  thought  that 
my  three  weeks  spent  in  David's  house  had  inspired 
me  with  a  passion  for  the  girl ;  and  he  had  brought 
her  here,  to  leave  her  helpless  in  my  power,  a  lure 
to  bind  me  to  his  interests  beyond  the  possibility  of 
double-dealing. 

Before  I  could  begin,  Elizabeth  collapsed.  She 
began  to  weep  without  restraint.  I  could  only  wait 
till  she  grew  more  composed.    I  stared  out  through 


The  House  on  the  Wall  167 


the  window,  looking  down  toward  the  Airscouts* 
Fortress,  whose  roof  rose  perhaps  twenty  feet 
beneath  me. 

I  saw  the  sentry  with  the  swan  badge,  pacing 
below.  Above  him  was  the  luminous  wall  of  the 
fortress,  and  over  it,  floating  in  the  air,  was  a  host 
of  ghostly  shapes,  airplanes  encased  in  their  phos- 
phorescent glow  armor,  which,  as  I  watched  them, 
rose  one  by  one  into  the  air,  circled,  and  flitted  noise- 
lessly away  toward  the  south,  like  bubbles  blown  by 
children. 

It  could  not  have  been  late,  for  curfew  had  not 
come  into  operation,  and  London  was  ablaze  with  the 
solar  light;  but  the  crowds  had  gone  home  and  every- 
thing was  quite  still.  As  I  withdrew  from  the  win- 
dow Elizabeth  rose  and  came  timidly  toward  me. 
"Arnold,  have  I  done  you  a  wrong?"  she  whis- 
pered. 

"You  misunderstood  me,"  I  answered.  "But  you 
could  not  have  thought  otherwise.  If  we  understand 
each  other  now  we  can  help  each  other  —  isn't  that 


so 


She  seized  me  by  both  arms  and  gazed  into  my 
face  with  an  imploring,  pitiful  appeal  that  wrung 
my  heart. 

"Then  I  thank  God,"  she  said,  "for  that  impulse 
which  held  me  from  self-destruction.  Arnold,  do 
you  remember  that  promise  I  made  to  you  one  day? 


168  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

I  remembered  it;  I  remembered  it,  and  it  was  that 
alone  which  stayed  my  hand  this  afternoon,  when  the 
emissary  from  Lembken  came,  and  there  was  only 
the  one  barred  door  between  us,  and  I  stood  behind  it, 
with  the  knife  at  my  breast.  Then  I  resolved  to  keep 
my  promise  to  you,  and  to  let  them  bring  me  here, 
and  —  to  kill  Lembken  —  but  it  was  you !  When  you 
disappeared  from  the  Strangers'  House  this  morn- 
ing we  feared  for  your  safety.  We  thought  you  had 
been  seized  or  lured  away.  Then  my  father  was 
summoned  on  some  pretext  back  to  the  Strangers' 
Bureau,  and  the  airscout  came  —  Lembken's  man.  I 
thought  I  was  for  Lembken — " 

She  broke  off,  and  I  took  her  hands  in  mine. 

"Elizabeth,"  I  said,  "my  dear,  I  do  not  understand 
anything  of  what  you  tell  me.  How  could  they  bring 
you  here  against  your  will?" 

She  looked  at  me  in  amazement. 

''No,  I  see  you  do  not  understand,"  she  answered. 
''And  yet  you  are  dressed  as  a  priest.  I  cannot  tell 
you  now.  But  the  airscout  who  had  been  sent  for 
me  was  sorry  when  he  saw  that  I  was  not  willing,  like 
most  women.  He  took  the  knife  from  me,  but  after- 
ward he  let  me  keep  it ;  he  was  kind  and  promised  to 
carry  the  news  to  Jones,  our  friend.  The  airscouts 
are  disloyal  to  Lembken,  and  hate  his  cruelty,  but  he 
dared  not  disobey.  We  went  by  scoutplane  from  the 
roof,  and  Lembken's  women  took  me  and  clothed  me 


The  House  on  the  Wall  i69 

in  this  dress  of  palms,  and  carried  me  here,  laughing 
at  me.  They  did  not  find  the  knife.  I  hid  that;  I 
meant  to  serve  the  Province  and  the  world  by  killing 
Lembken.  But  then  I  saw  you,  Arnold,  and  — 
and—" 

She  burst  into  a  new  storm  of  weeping.     I  drew 
her  to  me  and  placed  her  head  on  my  shoulder.     I 
felt  a  cold,  burning  fire  of  resolution  in  my  heart 
which  never  disappeared.    Something,  some  spiritual 
door  was   opened  in  me.      I   became  part  of  the 
wretchedness  of  the  world  and  suffered  its  sorrows; 
pleasure  seemed  the  worst  part  of  life  then.    I  think, 
too,  I  loved  Esther  the  better  because  of  that  com- 
passion. 

V/hen  at  last  Elizabeth  raised  her  head  I  was 
struck  by  the  transformation  in  her  appearance.  It 
seemed  the  reflection  of  my  own  determination.  I 
had  put  forth  my  will  and  conquered,  and  her  own 
seemed  one  with  mine. 

''I  am  going  to  save  you,  Elizabeth,"  I  said.  ''You 
are  not  destined  for  this  earthly  hell." 

''Arnold,  are  you  yourself  in  danger  here?"  she 
asked. 

"Only  of  hell-fire,"  I  answered. 

"You  must  save  yourself  and  not  think  of  me," 
she  said. 

I  bade  her  sit  down,  and  went  back  to  the  entrance 
of  the  little  house.    I  had  half  expected  that  the  door 


170         The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

would  have  been  locked,  but  it  stood  open,  having 
become  unhasped,  and  the  sickly  odor  of  the  pervad- 
ing perfume  clung  to  the  warm,  stale  air.  I  crossed 
the  close  to  the  gate  that  led  into  the  garden  of  palms, 
and  stood  there  in  hesitation. 

The  solar  lights  had  been  turned  off,  and  all  was 
dark,  except  for  varicolored  lanterns  twinkling 
among  the  trees.  Yet  I  was  aware  of  souls  peopling 
that  darkness.  I  heard  the  tinkle  of  stringed  instru- 
ments ;  I  had  the  sense  of  hidden  beings  in  the  under- 
growth. If  hell  can  wear  the  mask  of  beauty,  surely 
it  did  that  night. 

I  crossed  the  lawn  and  began  to  skirt  the  graveled 
path  that  extended  before  me,  working  my  way 
toward  the  front  of  the  Palace.  The  squat,  white 
building  glittered  against  the  darkness.  Nobody 
stirred  at  the  entrance;  there  were  no  lights,  but 
always  I  had  the  sense  of  something  watching  me. 

At  last  I  saw  the  crystal  walls  on  the  west  side, 
and,  beyond  them,  the  phosphorescence  of  the  glow 
buildings.  I  stood  in  hesitancy.  On  my  right  stood 
the  thickets ;  on  my  left  the  crystal  ended  in  a  stone 
wall.  There  was  no  egress  except  through  the  Palace 
itself.     Lembken  left  nothing  to  surprise. 

As  I  turned  I  heard  the  rustle  of  stealthy  foot- 
steps near  me.  A  red  spark  drew  my  eyes  along  the 
vista  of  the  orange  trees,  whose  perfumed  flowers 
dispelled  the  cloying  odor  of  the  scented  night.     I 


The  House  on  the  Wall  171 

saw  a  Maenad's  face,  framed  in  a  leopard  skin,  peer- 
ing at  me  above  a  bank  of  hibiscus.  I  thought  I  rec- 
ognized the  girl  Amaranth ;  but  it  vanished  with  the 
dying  of  the  spark,  and  subdued  laughter  followed  it. 

All  that  was  evil  in  the  world  seemed  to  have  its 
focus  there.  I  felt  it,  breathed  it,  once  more  its 
psychic  dominance  oppressed  me  heavily.  I  saw  with 
sudden  intuition  why,  in  a  world  less  stable,  witches 
were  burned,  how  passionately  the  souls  of  simple 
men  fought  for  their  heritage  of  truth  and  law.  This 
was  the  negation  of  life,  of  all  that  struggling  life 
that  aspired  upward,  and  set  its  heel  upon  the  ser- 
pent's head.  Old  myths,  made  real  in  this  new  light, 
flashed  into  memory. 

I  hurried  back  to  the  close  and  fastened  the  gate 
behind  me.  The  sweat  was  dripping  from  my  fore- 
head when  I  regained  the  safety  of  the  little  house. 
I  burst  from  the  first  room  into  the  second. 

Elizabeth  was  not  there. 

I  ran  into  the  third  room.  She  was  not  there, 
either.  Terror  gripped  me.  Had  she  been  lured 
away  during  the  few  minutes  of  my  absence?  It 
seemed  impossible.    She  would  have  died  there. 

Then  my  eyes  fell  on  something  that  hung  outside 
the  window,  dangling,  as  it  seemed,  from  a  fixed 
point  above.  It  was  a  rope  ladder,  and  moving  out- 
ward. As  I  watched,  I  saw  it  begin  to  rise  in  a  suc- 
cession of  short  jerks. 


172  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

I  grasped  it  with  my  hands.  It  pulled  me  from  the 
floor.  I  clung  to  it,  striving  to  get  my  feet  upon 
the  rungs.  It  drew  me  to  the  level  of  the  window, 
but  I  would  not  let  go.  It  pulled  me  through  the 
window-gap,  and  I  swung  far  out  above  the  Air- 
scouts'  Fortress.  Over  me  I  saw  the  dark  outlines 
of  an  unshielded  scoutplane,  high  in  the  air. 

I  swung  by  my  hands  at  the  rope's  end,  like  the 
weight  of  a  pendulum,  making  great  transverse 
sweeps  that  carried  me  high  above  the  bridge,  from 
end  to  end  of  the  fortress  roof.  I  saw  the  courts 
revolve  beneath  me.  I  swept  from  the  crystal  wall 
out  into  nothingness,  and  London  was  a  reeling  dance 
of  phosphorescent  maze.  Then  the  ladder  began  to 
descend.  I  felt  the  roof  of  the  fortress  touch  my 
feet,  wrenched  my  numbed  hands  away,  and  fell. 
A  moment  later  the  airplane  dropped  beside  me  as 
noiselessly  as  an  alighting  bird,  and  two  men  sprang 
from  it  and  seized  me. 

One  was  the  airscout  Jones.  He  caught  me  by 
both  arms  and  forced  me  backward.  But  the  other 
leaped  at  my  throat.  It  was  David;  and  he  would 
have  strangled  me,  had  not  Jones  pulled  him  away. 

Then,  to  my  vast  relief,  Elizabeth  ran  forward, 
interposing  herself  between  us.  "Arnold  is  not  to 
blame !"  she  cried.    ''He  tried  to  save  me !" 

David's  hands  fell  to  his  sides.  The  airscout 
caught  me  by  the  arms  and  pulled  me  toward  an  ele- 


It  pulled  me  through  the  window-gap,  and  I   swung  far  out 
above  the   Airscouts'  Fortress 


The  House  on  the  Wall  173 

vator  entrance.  He  forced  me  into  the  cage,  the 
others  following,  and  we  descended  a  few  feet, 
emerging  into  a  small,  bare  room  with  walls  of 
unsquared  stone. 

Jones  sent  the  elevator  up  and  pulled  the  door  of 
the  shaft  to. 

"Now  you  can  speak.  You  have  five  minutes  to 
explain  yourself,"  he  said.  He  pulled  a  Ray  rod 
from  his  tunic  and  looked  at  David,  who  nodded. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE   AIRSCOUTS'    FORTRESS 

QO  I  told  them  my  story  from  the  beginning.  I 
spoke  of  the  days  of  the  Institute  and  Lazaroff's 
experiment,  of  my  awakening  within  the  cyHnder 
at  the  end  of  a  century  of  sleep,  my  flight  from  the 
cellar  and  my  discovery  by  Jones.  I  continued,  tell- 
ing of  my  first  bewilderment  in  London,  of  David's 
kindness  which  had  saved  my  reason,  described  my 
summons  that  morning  and  the  relays  of  spies  who 
had  led  me  to  the  Temple.  When  I  narrated  my  dis- 
covery of  the  cylinder  containing  Esther's  living 
body  I  raised  my  eyes  to  David's  and  perceived  that 
I  was  no  longer  in  the  position  of  a  prisoner  awaiting 
death. 

David's  aspect  had  changed;  he  was  trembling 
violently  and  struggling  to  speak.  He  looked  fear- 
fully at  me,  and  Jones  was  hardly  less  moved.  Then 
Elizabeth  slipped  her  hand  into  mine. 

"We  believe  you,  Arnold,"  she  said. 

Three  times  David  attempted  to  speak  while  I  was 
sketching  briefly  the  remainder  of  my  story  up  to  the 
point  of  my  encounter  with  Elizabeth,  and  each  time 
his  voice  failed  him. 

"Arnold,  forgive  me,"  he  managed  to  say  at  last. 

174 


The  Air  scouts'  Fortress  175 

"We  know  that  every  word  you  have  told  us  is  true, 
if  only  you  had  told  me  before!  But  I  see  how  in- 
credible you  must  have  thought  your  story.  Now 
listen  to  me ! 

"The  horrors  of  this  government  will  not  last 
much  longer.  Plans  are  well  under  way  to  make  an 
end  of  democracy  and  restore  liberty  to  the  world. 
You  have  unwittingly  placed  a  wonderful  weapon  in 
our  hands.  No  man  can  be  neutral  in  such  times. 
Now,  Arnold,  you  have  to  make  a  decision  which  will 
affect  not  yourself  only,  but  all  of  us,  Britain,  the 
Federation,  and  the  race  of  men.  You  must  choose 
your  party."  He  turned  to  Jones.  "He  must  be 
told  nothing  until  the  time  arrives,"  he  continued, 
assuming  a  tone  of  authority.  "You  will  say  noth- 
ing—  nor  you,  Elizabeth." 

He  turned  to  me  again. 

"Arnold,"'  he  said,  "you  must  make  your  choice 
now.  Lembken  needs  you  for  reasons  which  are 
patent  to  us,  thanks  to  your  statement.  H  you  go 
back  to  him  he  can  give  you  power  and  liberty  to  lord 
it  over  the  people  until  the  quick  day  of  reckoning 
arrives.  H  you  join  us  you  must  become  an  outlaw 
and  an  associate  in  the  most  desperate  endeavor,  play 
a  leading  part  and  share  our  dangers." 

"How  can  you  doubt  me?"  I  asked.  "I  am  with 
you,  now,  and  at  all  times." 

David  held  up  his  hand.    "Wait !"  he  said.    "You 


176  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

must  first  understand  our  situation,  and  why  we  are 
here  tonight." 

''It  is  not  necessary,  David,"  I  answered. 

"Yes,  it  is  necessary.  Because  you  do  not 
know  the  depth  of  our  intolerable  bondage.  I  am 
going  to  tell  you  of  my  own  life,  that  you  may 
judge. 

"I  begin  with  my  father.  As  I  told  you,  he  was 
epileptic  in  youth.  He  outgrew  the  attacks,  and 
because  the  Liberal  government  never  dared  to  en- 
force the  Defectives'  Law  which  it  passed  in  1930, 
he  was  able  to  marry,  much  later,  a  girl  to  whom  he 
had  been  engaged  for  many  years.  They  had  lived 
quietly  in  what  was  then  called  Wales,  in  a  rural 
community  that  had  somehow  managed  to  escape 
the  excesses  which  began  in  1945. 

''But  my  father  was  a  marked  man,  because  he 
was  on  the  secret  defectives'  list,  and  a  Conservative. 
A  few  weeks  after  his  marriage  the  storm  of  revolu- 
tion burst  over  Dolgelly.  The  army  of  clerks  and 
civil  officers  that  followed  the  troops  of  the  victorious 
democracy  raked  the  country  fine  for  victims.  With 
his  young  bride  my  father  fled  to  the  mountains, 
where  I  was  born,  and  they  existed  there,  heaven 
knows  how,  till  an  opportunity  arrived  for  flight 
abroad.  When  the  restoration  came  he  returned, 
and  rebuilt  his  ruined  home. 

"My  father  was  a  student  of  history,  and  he  knew 


The  Air  scouts'  Fortress  ill 

that  the  peace  which  had  descended  over  the  dis- 
tracted country  was  only  a  lull  in  the  storm  of  vio- 
lence. He  resolved  to  teach  me  all  the  old  knowl- 
edge, which  had  fallen  into  decay.  He  wanted  me 
to  play  a  leading  part  in  political  life,  as  his  forebears 
had  done.  But  the  second  revolution  was  upon  us 
when  I  was  a  youth  of  nineteen.  Fortunately,  my 
parents  were  both  dead. 

"The  mob  started  burning  defectives  then.  For 
many  there  was  the  chance  of  submission  to  the  new 
government,  nominally  under  Boss  Rose,  which  San- 
son was  constructing;  but  there  was  none  for  me, 
since  epilepsy  was  then,  owing  to  the  ephemeral 
theory  of  some  forgotten  scientist,  regarded  as  the 
unpardonable  sin.  I  managed  to  escape  to  Denmark, 
and  spent  the  next  sixteen  years  upon  the  Continent, 
wandering  from  place  to  place  as  the  Federation 
came  into  being.  I  married  a  Swiss  lady  at  Lau- 
sanne, where  Elizabeth  was  born.  We  had  to  fly 
by  night,  when  the  child  was  a  week  old.  My  wife 
could  not  survive  the  journey  over  the  mountain 
passes  in  the  middle  of  winter.  She  died  in  what  was 
called  Austria,  two  days  after  our  arrival  there. 
With  Elizabeth  I  continued  my  flight  eastward,  and 
found  refuge  in  Greece. 

*'I  said  that  the  mob  had  begun  to  burn  defectives. 
But  the  Council  changed  that.  The  word  'produc- 
tivity' was  the  new  fetish,  and,  seeing  that  the  mur- 


178  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

der  of  half  the  population  would  decrease  the  output, 
the  Council  resolved  to  imprison  defectives  in  the 
workshops  for  life  instead.  But  even  this  did  not 
work.  In  1999  Boss  Rose  became  alarmed  at  the 
depopulation  caused  by  the  universal  terror.  Men 
denounced  their  brothers  for  small  rewards,  and 
wives  their  husbands,  when  they  grew  tired  of  them. 
Men  and  women  were  crossing  the  North  Sea  in  tiny 
skiffs,  or  perishing  in  the  waves,  flying  into  the  glens 
of  Scotland,  organizing  in  bands  and  living  a  hunted 
life  within  the  forests  that  had  begun  to  cover  the 
country.  Boss  Rose  issued  an  amnesty  decree. 
Defectives  who  returned  and  were  able  to  produce  a 
hektone  and  a  quarter  monthly  were  not  to  be  pro- 
scribed. I  returned  to  Britain  and  secured  employ- 
ment in  the  Strangers'  Bureau,  which  had  just  been 
established,  a  post  for  which  my  education  and  expe- 
riences abroad  qualified  me. 

"Ten  years  ago  Boss  Rose  fell  under  an  assassin's 
dagger.  The  Council,  under  the  influence  of  Sanson, 
issued  a  decree  that  no  faith  was  to  be  kept  with 
defectives.  Sanson,  then  supreme  behind  the  mask 
of  Lembken,  began  to  harry  the  people.  It  was  then 
he  introduced  his  system  of  mating  under  Council 
supervision.'-' 

"It  is  abominable !"  I  cried. 

"Yet,  like  all  our  institutions,  it  has  its  roots  far 
back  in  the  past,"  said  David,  "and  only  needed  the 


The  Air  scouts'  Fortress  179 


abandonment  of  the  Christian  ethic  to  spring  full- 
fledged  into  existence.  The  Prophet  Wells  fore- 
shadowed it,  as  did  also  Ellen  Key ;  and  on  this  point 
the  followers  of  Gal  ton  joined  the  Socialist  govern- 
ment in  a  concerted  attack  upon  monogamy.  This,  in 
fact,  has  been  the  crux  of  the  old  battle  between  So- 
cialism and  the  Church :  on  the  one  hand  the  old  ideal 
of  the  family  as  the  unit  of  society,  and  marriage  an 
indissoluble  bond;  on  the  other  the  individual,  free 
from  responsibility  and  seeking  his  own  fancied  free- 
dom. Even  in  the  Prophet's  time  America  had  prac- 
tically abandoned  monogamy,  while  the  anti-social 
propaganda  was  being  secretly  carried  on  by  the 
teaching  of  what  was  called  sex  hygiene  in  the 
schools.  When  the  churches  compromised  with  di- 
vorce. Protestantism  finally  collapsed,  and  flung  half 
the  civilized  world  back  into  paganism.'' 

"It  was  said  that  the  children — "  I  began. 

"The  answer  was  State  rearing,  Arnold,  as  had 
been  urged  by  many  men  and  some  women  of  liberal 
and  progressive  minds.  We  tried  that  in  2002.  Eliz- 
abeth was  torn  from  me.  For  six  months  we  had 
public  creches  in  every  city.  There  was  much  public 
dissatisfaction,  though  the  children  were  not  taken 
from  their  mothers  till  they  had  been  weaned.  That 
was  the  time  when  the  Guard  was  formed,  consist- 
ing of  Janissaries  trained  from  youth  by  the  Council 
and  pledged  to  them.     However,  what  caused  the 


180  TJic  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

abandonment  of  the  creche  system  was  a  quite  unex- 
pected happening.  Despite  the  utmost  care,  despite  a 
process  of  automatic  feeding  in  germ-proof  incuba- 
tors, which  made  it  impossible  for  any  of  the  little 
inmates  to  lack  the  advantages  of  the  latest  hygienic 
theories,  the  children  died. 

''This  phenomenon  was  never  explained  satisfac- 
torily, and  the  mortality,  which  ranged  from  eighty 
to  ninety  per  cent,  shocked  the  Province  profoundly, 
for  it  meant  an  intolerable  lessening  in  the  produc- 
tivity of  the  next  generation.  The  children  were  re- 
turned to  their  parents.  Elizabeth,  who  was  above 
the  age  curve  of  maximum  mortality,  came  back  to 
me,  and,  in  spite  of  rigorous  inspection  by  the  offi- 
cials of  the  Childrens'  Bureau,  I  have  managed  to 
keep  her. 

"But  I  must  be  brief,  Arnold.  I  have  told  you 
that  it  was  decreed  no  faith  was  to  be  kept  with 
defectives.  The  net  was  cast  over  all  who,  trusting 
to  the  proclamation,  had  returned  from  the  forests 
and  waste  places,  and  from  abroad.  Gradually  they 
were  sorted  out  and  ascribed.  Many  records  of 
heredity  had  disappeared  during  the  Revolution,  but 
they  had  my  father's  in  the  Bureau  of  Pedigrees  and 
Relationships.  Since  then  I  have  waited  in  suspense 
daily.  They  know  it,  and,  if  I  have  not  been  con- 
demned to  the  workshops,  it  is  through  Lembken's 
favor,  for  he  was  head  of  the  Strangers'  Bureau 


The  Air  scouts'  Fortress  181 

before  the  assassination  of  Boss  Rose,  and  I  worked 
under  him." 

*'But  is  there  no  law?"  I  cried.  '*Is  there  no 
charter  of  liberty  at  all  ?" 

''Why,  yes,  Arnold.  We  still  have  Magna  Charta, 
and  Habeas  Corpus,  and  many  other  documents,  and 
occasionally  these  are  invoked.  There  is  an  old  man 
in  the  paper  shops  who  has  appealed  against  impris- 
onment and  carried  his  case  through  twenty  or  thirty 
courts  since  he  was  shut  up  as  a  boy,  and  if  he  lives 
long  enough  his  appeal  will  come  before  the  Council. 
But  you  see,  Arnold,  one  of  the  first  acts  of  the  vic- 
torious democracy  was  to  institute  the  election  and 
the  recall  of  judges. 

''They  think  I  fear  for  my  own  liberty,"  he  con- 
tinued, beginning  to  pace  the  floor.  "They  do  not 
know  —  happily  they  do  not  know." 

Then  he  went  on  to  tell  me  that  which  concerned 
the  girFs  arrest  that  afternoon. 

It  appeared  that  Elizabeth  was  one  of  those  very 
few  who  were  physically  almost  perfect,  and,  as 
such,  she  had  been  in  danger  of  being  placed  on  the 
list  of  those  who  were  to  enter  the  harems  of  the 
whites.  David's  sole  hope  of  saving  her  lay  in  the 
fact  that  she  was  penalized  six  points  because  her 
grandfather  had  had  epileptic  seizures.  But  she 
approximated  so  closely  to  the  Sanson  norm  —  and 
the  child  had  been  innocent  enough  to  head  the  dis- 


182  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

trict  list  of  those  qualifying  in  mentality  by  exam- 
ination upon  the  Binet  board  —  that  there  had  been 
little  hope  for  her.  This  fear  had  been  increased  by 
the  fact  that  Lembken  had  seen  Elizabeth,  and  had 
recently  summoned  her  and  her  father  to  the  Council 
Hall,  under  the  pretext  of  wishing  to  confer  some 
favor  upon  an  old  subordinate. 

Now  I  gathered  in  the  last  threads  of  the  skein. 
David  had  returned  from  the  Strangers'  Bureau  that 
afternoon  to  find  the  apartment  empty.  Jones  had 
conveyed  the  news  to  him,  and  had  secreted  him  in 
the  Airscouts'  Fortress,  pending  a  plan  of  rescue,  a 
task  which  was  only  rendered  possible  through  the 
disaffection  of  Lembken's  airscouts.  Jones  had  seen 
me  in  my  priest's  robes,  and  the  two  had  come  to  the 
natural  conclusion  that  I  had  been  a  spy,  playing  one 
of  the  romantic  parts  in  fashion  among  the  whites, 
and  approved  in  the  Council's  novels,  in  order  to  see 
Elizabeth  before  selecting  her.  We  had  been  discov- 
ered at  the  window,  the  position  of  the  little  house 
had  given  Jones  the  opportunity  of  rescuing  the  girl 
with  his  scoutplane,  and,  but  for  my  return  while  the 
rope  still  dangled  before  the  aperture,  I  should  never 
have  known  the  secret  of  Elizabeth's  disappearance. 
No  wonder  David  had  flown  at  my  throat. 

"Now,  we  must  act  at  once,"  said  David.  "We 
are  going  to  seek  refuge  in  the  forests  where  our 
friends  are  hiding.    Jones  will  carry  us  there  tonight 


The  Air  scouts'  Fortress  183 

when  he  starts  in  his  scoutplane  on  patrol  duty.  It 
is  a  difficult  problem  to  pass  the  night  patrol.  But 
Jones  can  get  us  through.  And  now,  Arnold,  what  is 
your  decision?" 

"I  made  it  long  ago,"  I  answered. 

"You  are  with  us?" 

"Indeed,  I  am." 

David  wrung  my  hand  hard.  "You  have  decided 
wisely,"  he  said,  "and  by  your  decision  you  have 
taken  the  only  means  possible  to  save  the  woman  you 
love.  For  the  Sanson  regime  is  crumbling,  and  your 
presence  means,  what  you  cannot  yet  imagine,  to  the 
cause  of  liberty.  We  have  five  thousand  outlaws  and 
fugitives  from  the  defectives'  shops,  scattered  in 
secret  hiding  places  about  London.  We  have  made 
Ray  rods  in  the  shops  and  have  secreted  provi- 
sions. Tonight  the  heads  of  the  movement  are  to 
assemble — " 

"In  the  cellar  where  I  lay  so  long!"  I  exclaimed, 
with  sudden  intuition.  "And  Jones  had  been  there 
with  Ray  rods  when  he  found  me!" 

"Correct,"  answered  Jones,  in  his  laconic  manner. 

"We  remain  here  until  midnight,"  said  David. 
"Then  Jones  will  take  us  when  he  starts  to  relieve 
the  first  patrol." 

"Be  assured  that  I  am  with  you  to  the  end,"  I 
said.  And  I  swore  that  I  would  do  all  in  my  power, 
so  long  as  I  had  life  and  liberty,  to  fight  for  human 


184  TJie  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

freedom.  And  as  I  swore  I  had  a  vision  of  the  girl, 
mangled  and  crushed  upon  the  stones  beneath  that 
tropical,  aerial  hell  beneath  the  noble  dome  of  Eng- 
land's shameful  temple. 

I  think  the  resolution  in  my  manner  must  have 
enkindled  David's  hopes,  for  he  put  out  his  hand 
and  caught  mine  again,  and  wrung  and  held  it. 

''You  do  not  know,  Arnold,  how  necessary  you  are 
to  us,"  he  said.  "But  tonight  you  shall  be  told.  lam 
old,  Arnold,  and  I  have  little  courage.  I  have  lived 
through  too  many  changes  and  frustrated  hopes.  I 
had  grown  used  and  resigned  to  things  that  had  come 
to  seem  unchangeable.  The  freedom  of  my  youth 
was  only  a  dream  to  me.  Sometimes  I  doubted 
whether  men  had  ever  been  free.  It  was  your  sur- 
prise, your  ignorance,  then  the  indignation  which  you 
thought  I  did  not  see  that  made  me  begin  to  under- 
stand my  own  degradation.  And  it  was  today's 
events  that  gave  me  heart  to  work  with  all  my  might 
for  the  cause  to  which  I  had  only  languidly  adhered. 
I  have  been  one  of  the  revolutionary  committee  for 
months,  and  now  I  shall  fight  whole-heartedly,  and 
you  with  me." 

"David,"  I  said  with  sudden  conviction,  "you  are 
a  Christian." 

His  eyes  suddenly  seemed  to  blaze.  "I  am!"  he 
cried.  "As  we  all  are.  I  have  temporized  with  evil 
all  these  years^  but  now  I  cannot  do  so  any  more. 


The  Air  scouts'  Fortress  185 

The  hope  of  the  world  can  never  be  crushed  out;  it  is 
spreading  everywhere.  All  of  us  are  enlisted  under 
that  flag  that  was  raised  on  the  Mount  two  thousand 
years  ago.  We  see  that  without  Christ,  life  is  intol- 
erable. I  knew  your  faith  from  the  first,  Arnold, 
although  I  dared  not  speak,  I  knew  it  at  the  begin- 
ning because  I  thought  you  were  a  Russian.  That 
was  why  I  befriended  you.  We  know  our  own!" 
he  cried  triumphantly. 

Elizabeth  put  one  arm  about  her  father's  neck  and 
extended  her  free  hand  to  me.  I  clasped  it,  and  then 
the  airscout's ;  and  so  we  pledged  ourselves. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  Messiah's  annunciation 

TONES  left  us  and  came  back  with  some  food. 
*^  Upon  his  arm  he  carried  a  stranger's  uniform, 
which  he  handed  to  me. 

**You  cannot  wear  those  robes,"  he  said.  "Take 
this.  It  should  fit  you;  it  belonged  to  one  of  our 
recruits  who  was  ascribed  last  week  and  has  not  yet 
returned  it  to  the  Wool  Stores." 

I  was  glad  to  see  the  last  of  the  priest's  robes.  He 
carried  them  away,  promising  to  return  for  us  in  an 
hour.  Elizabeth  made  us  eat,  but  we  had  little  heart 
to  do  so.  At  her  insistence,  however,  we  made  the 
best  display  of  appetite  that  was  possible. 

The  room  was  only  faintly  illumined  by  the  re- 
flected solar  light  that  issued  up  the  elevator  shaft. 
With  it  there  mounted  the  sound  of  the  voices  of  the 
airscouts  in  their  barracks  below.  Sometimes  the 
elevator  rushed  by,  arousing  a  thrill  of  fear  in  each 
of  us. 

David  drew  me  toward  him  and  began  speaking 
softly. 

''You  know  nothing  of  Paul,"  he  said.  ''His  name 
is  Paul  Llewellyn  —  for  we  observe  Sanson's  laws  no 
longer.     He  was  to  have  mated  Elizabeth." 

186 


The  Messiah's  Annunciation  187 

"Married?" 

*'Yes,  married,  before  the  Cold  Solstice.  His 
grandfather  was  my  father's  steward  at  Dolgelly. 
Our  families  remained  in  touch  through  all  the  civil 
turmoil,  and  he  is  the  last  of  his,  as  Elizabeth  is  the 
last  of  mine.  He  was  given  the  name  Paul,  the 
father  retaining  the  family  name,  which  was  to  alter- 
nate in  each  generation,  as  is  the  custom  nowadays. 
That  law  of  Sanson's  must  be  one  of  the  first  to  go. 
It  aimed,  of  course,  to  destroy  the  vestiges  of  the 
family  that  remained. 

"Paul  was  a  Grade  i  defective,  and  we  felt  sure 
that  Elizabeth  would  come  under  the  same  classifica- 
tion, so  that  they  would  be  free  to  mate.  They  were 
waiting  for  the  lists  to  be  published,  but  Elizabeth 
had  not  been  ascribed  when  the  last  list  went  up,  and 
meanwhile  Paul  was  sent  to  the  defectives'  shops. 
Arnold,  did  you  ever  hear  of  the  doctrine  called 
Apostolic  Succession?" 

"Of  course,  David." 

"That  the  functions  of  the  priesthood  are  trans- 
mitted by  the  laying  on  of  hands?  The  English 
Church  possessed  the  tradition,  and  it  has  never  been 
lost,  though  most  of  our  people  attach,  I  am  afraid, 
some  magical  idea  to  the  ancient  rite.  Our  bishop 
is  a  poor,  illiterate  old  man,  a  machinist  by  trade,  but 
Bonham  laid  his  hands  on  him  before  he  was  burned 
in  Westminster  Hall.     Bishop  Alfred  was  to  have 


188  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

blessed  the  union.  A  week  before  Fruit  Equinox, 
Paul  was  taken  in  the  bishop's  home  by  Sanson's 
spies.  Both  were  condemned  to  life  imprisonment 
in  the  defectives'  shops  as  Christians.  Both  escaped 
among  the  last  batch  of  fugitives.  Elizabeth  hopes 
to  meet  Paul  tonight." 

**And  I  hope  so,  with  all  my  heart,"  I  answered. 

The  cage  stopped  at  the  door  and  Jones  came  in. 

*'We  can  go  now.  The  last  of  the  scoutplanes  has 
gone,"  he  said. 

We  went  up  to  the  roof.  Deep  night  was  over 
and  about  us.  The  phosphorescent  fronts  of  the 
glow-painted  buildings  gave  London  the  aspect  of 
long  lines  of  parallel  and  intersecting  palisades  of 
ghostly  light;  but  the  glow  paint  illumined  nothing, 
and  the  deep  canyons  of  the  streets  were  of  velvety 
blackness.  The  white  circle  of  the  fortress  wall  sur- 
rounded us.  Outside  the  region  of  the  glow,  London 
was  an  indistinguishable  blurred  shadow,  save  where 
the  searchlights  from  the  departing  scoutplanes 
illumined  it.  They  hovered  in  a  long  line  above  the 
city,  their  position  only  discernible  from  the  white 
searchrays  that  emanated  from  them  as  they  swept 
the  city  below.  Slowly  they  made  their  way  into 
the  southern  distance. 

I  groped  for  reality  in  this  succession  of  bewilder- 
ing scenes,  and  hardly  found  it.  Rain  began  to  fall, 
spattering  on  the  crystal  walls  of  the  adjacent  gar- 


The  Messiah's  Annunciation  189 

dens,  in  which  the  flickering  colored  lights  still 
twinkled.  My  face  was  wet  with  it.  I  was  thinking 
of  the  old  days,  when  life  was  free:  Sir  Spofforth's 
rain-swept  garden,  the  scent  of  Esther's  tea-roses, 
and  the  hum  of  the  ungainly,  noisy  town  of  Croydon 
that  last  evening.  I  saw  Esther's  face  vividly  upon 
the  velvet  screen  of  the  night. 

Elizabeth's  hand  stole  into  mine. 

"You  are  our  hope,  Arnold.  You  can  inspire  us 
to  victory,"  she  whispered. 

Jones  had  gotten  the  scoutplane  ready,  and  the 
vessel  now  rested  on  the  flat  roof,  as  a  bird  on  its 
perching  place.  It  was  a  little  craft,  even  smaller 
than  my  memory  of  it  had  been,  and  it  carried  no 
Ray  shield  to  betray  its  presence.  Jones  drew  David 
aside  and  held  a  whispered  colloquy  with  him. 

*'We  are  about  ready,"  he  said,  as  they  came  back 
to  us.  "I've  shifted  the  searchlight  to  the  rear  socket 
to  balance  the  extra  weight.  She'll  carry  us.  I'll 
have  time  to  take  you  to  your  destination  and  report 
for  scout  duty  when  Hancock  comes  the  round.  But 
if  I  fly  with  the  searchlight  showing,  any  of  the 
planes  may  signal  me  to  stop  —  " 

He  rubbed  his  chin,  and  the  old  irresolution  came 
upon  his  face. 

"If  I  fly  dark  it's  a  leather  vat  offense,"  he  added. 
"And  the  battleplanes  would  fire  on  us." 

He  paused  and  rubbed  his  chin  again. 


190  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

"I'll  fly  dark,"  he  said,  and  so  settled  the  matter 
firmly  in  his  own  mind.  And,  his  mind  thus  made 
up,  I  knew  nothing  would  change  it. 

There  was  some  difficulty  in  disposing  of  us. 
Finally  Jones  placed  us  three  in  the  double  seat, 
Elizabeth  in  the  center  and  David  and  I  on  either 
side  of  her.  He  himself  squatted  upon  the  chassis 
before  us,  the  wheel  in  his  hands.  He  touched  the 
starting  lever  with  his  right  foot,  and  the  craft  rose 
heavily  into  the  air,  straining  beneath  her  burden. 
In  spite  of  the  counterbalance  of  the  searchlight 
behind,  the  nose  of  the  plane  dipped  constantly,  so 
that  our  flight  was  a  succession  of  abrupt  ascents 
and  declinations. 

It  was  freezing  cold  up  in  the  air.  Gradually  we 
ascended,  till  I  felt  the  fresh  wind  from  the  Thames 
estuary  beat  on  my  face.  Presently  the  south  was 
cleft  by  flaming  serpents,  with  eyes  of  fire. 

"The  food  airvans  from  France,"  said  David, 
pointing. 

Now  we  soared  over  the  outlying  factories  and 
warehouses.  A  huge,  glow-painted  building  sprang 
into  view  out  of  the  shadows  below. 

"The  defectives'  workshops  for  this  district," 
David  continued.  "Yonder  is  the  Council's  art 
factory." 

The  darkness  in  front  of  us  began  to  be  studded 
with  long  parallelograms  of  dazzling  glow,  set  at 


The  Messiah's  Annimciation  191 

wide  intervals,  each  capped  with  the  conical  Ray 
guns.  From  these,  extending  fanwise  toward  the 
ground,  appearing  pink  in  contrast  with  the  glow's 
intensely  purple  white,  the  searchlights  wavered. 

Jones  halted  the  scoutplane.  "The  battleplanes," 
he  said,  pointing.  'They  are  posted  nightly  around 
London  now.    You  know  the  reason,  David?" 

David  started  and  placed  his  hand  in  inquiry  upon 
the  airscout's  shoulder.  Jones's  voice  sank  to  a 
whisper. 

*Tt  is  the  merest  rumor  among  our  men,"  he  said. 
*'One  reads  it  in  their  faces  rather  than  hears  it 
spoken,  for  we  are  afraid  of  one  another.  One  can 
be  sure  that  Sanson  has  his  spies  among  us.  But 
the  scoutplanes  are  sufficient  to  patrol  London  and 
detect  fugitives,  and  if  the  battleplanes  are  sent  out 
there  is  hope  the  rumor  may  be  true.  If  the  Tsar 
has  broken  out  from  Tula  —  " 

*'Thank  God !"  said  David  in  a  tense  whisper. 
"He  will  overrun  Skandogermania  in  a  week,  for 
it  is  as  disaffected  as  Britain.     The  airscouts  there 
will  go  over  to  him.     There  is  no  force  to  stop  him, 
except  our  planes  and  the  Guard." 

I  saw  the  joy  on  David's  face.     Could  barbarous 

Russia  indeed  bring  freedom  to  the  Western  World  ? 

*Tt  is  only  a  rumor,"  continued  Jones.    "A  rumor, 

you  understand,  David,  backed  by  the  presence  of  the 

battleplane  squadron  around  the  city  nightly,  words 


192         The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

let  fall  in  the  People's  House,  retailed  by  gossiping 
servants,  the  sudden  summons  last  night  of  Air- 
Admiral  Hancock  —  " 

"But  the  Russians  have  been  slaughtered  in  thou- 
sands!" I  exclaimed.  ''I  saw  the  picture  upon  the 
screen." 

Jones  laughed  and  David  smiled. 

"Those  pictures  are  for  the  people,"  said  the  air- 
scout.  "They  were  taken  by  night  inside  the  fortress 
here.    The  Guard  dressed  for  the  part." 

"Still,  how  could  the  Russians  win  without  the 
Ray?"  asked  David  doubtfully. 

"I  can  answer  that,"  I  said.  "All  history  shows 
that  no  weapon  is  strong  enough  to  conquer  men  who 
are  ready  to  die  for  a  right  idea  against  an  evil  one. 
Ideas  are  stronger  than  the  deadliest  arm  man  has 
contrived.  That  has  always  been  so  and  always 
will  be  so." 

Again  EHzabeth's  hand  crept  into  mine.  "You 
must  tell  our  people  that,  Arnold,"  she  said.  "You 
know  the  secret  of  stirring  them." 

"But  Hancock  will  stand  by  Lembken?"  inquired 
David. 

"Yap,  and  will  hold  at  least  a  quarter  of  our  men 
to  him,"  said  Jones.  "He  will  serve  Lembken 
through  Sanson,  so  long  as  Sanson  remains  loyal. 
If  Sanson  turns  against  Lembken  to  seize  the 
supreme  power,  Hancock  will  fight  him  to  the  deatli. 


The  Messiah's  Annunciation  193 

Sanson  sent  the  Air- Admiral's  son  to  the  Rest  Cure 
as  a  moron,  years  ago,  when  Hancock  was  unknown. 
Sanson  doesn't  remember  it,  but  Hancock  remem- 
bers." 

I  shuddered.  "Why,  then,  is  not  Hancock  with 
us?"  I  asked. 

"There  are  traditions  of  loyalty  in  his  family," 
answered  Jones.  "Hancock  is  queer.  Now  wc  go 
up.     Hold  fast," 

The  scoutplane  creaked  and  rocked  and  plunged 
like  a  ship  in  a  gale  as,  foot  by  foot,  he  jerked  her 
head  into  the  higher  air.  The  gleaming  glow  paral- 
lelograms of  the  battleplanes  seemed  to  shoot  down- 
ward as  we  soared  above  them.  We  had  passed 
them  when,  like  some  black  air  monster,  a  large,  dark 
plane  glided  beneath  us.  I  felt  our  scoutplane  thrill 
as  she  shot  upward,  so  suddenly  that  she  rose  almost 
to  the  perpendicular,  jerking  us  back  against  the 
uprights. 

Jones  was  straining  madly  at  the  wheel,  and  I 
realized  that  the  dark  plane  was  in  pursuit  of  us.  I 
saw  her  swoop  out  of  the  night,  missing  us  by  a  yard. 
She  disappeared.  I  heard  the  divided  air  hiss  as  she 
approached  again,  and  the  next  instant  the  blinding 
searchlight  enveloped  us,  and  a  voice  hailed  us, 
piping  thin  through  the  frosty  night.  Then  the  light 
was  astern,  and  groping  impotently  beneath  us  as  we 
rose  to  a  higher  level.    Jones  strained  at  the  vertical 


194         The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

rudder,  pushing  the  plane's  nose  up  and  still  upward, 
battling  like  a  weather-beaten  bird  against  the  wind. 

Again  the  searchlight  found  us,  and  then,  out  of 
the  heart  of  it,  turning  the  keen  white  glare  to  a  baby 
pink  that  fringed  it,  there  hissed  a  light  ten  times 
more  brilliant,  snapping  and  crackling,  into  the  void. 
Jones  veered,  still  mounting.  The  dazzling  light 
flared  out  again.  The  upright  that  I  held  snapped 
in  my  hand.  I  slipped  in  my  seat,  but  David  reached 
out  and  held  me. 

Once  more  the  Ray  flash  came,  but  under  us.  The 
darkness  and  our  pilot's  courage  had  saved  us.  The 
searchlight  groped  far  underneath.  Our  scoutplane 
dipped,  soared,  dipped,  caught  the  wind,  and  we  vol- 
planed at  furious  speed  for  miles  down  a  gradient  of 
cushiony  air. 

I  felt  Elizabeth  tremble,  and  placed  my  arms 
around  her  to  hold  her.  Jones  stayed  the  plane  and 
clapped  his  numbed  hands  together,  whistling 
through  his  teeth.  He  jerked  his  head  around.  The 
moon  was  beginning  to  rise;  it  was  a  little  lighter, 
and  I  saw  that  his  face  was  dripping  wet. 

"A  thread  of  an  escape!"  he  said.  "If  she  had 
struck  us  fair  with  the  Ray  we'd  have  buckled  up  like 
paper.     Snapped  one  upright,  didn't  it  ?" 

There  was  a  cut  of  two  inches  in  the  steel  —  a 
clean  cut,  and  the  edges  fused  as  if  from  fire. 

"That  was  Hancock's  dispatchplane,"  said  Jones. 


The  Messiah's  Annunciation  195 

"He  carries  no  light.  But  —  the  voice  didn't  sound 
like  Hancock's." 

''Are  we  safe  now?"  asked  David,  looking  back 
to  where  the  shrunken  figures  of  the  batdeplanes 
were  ranged  behind  us  on  the  horizon. 

''Safe  long  ago,"  said  Jones.  "But  it  was  touch- 
and-go  while  I  was  trying  to  top  that  southeaster. 
He  lost  us  at  the  summit,  though,  and  he  couldn't 
have  caught  us  on  that  down-grade." 

We  started  again,  traveling  more  slowly,  at  a 
lower  altitude,  and  planing  downward  until  I  heard 
the  wind  in  the  tree  boughs  and  saw  the  glistening 
snow  beneath.  We  brushed  the  top-most  twigs.  The 
scoutplane  flitted  backward  and  forward,  seeking  the 
old  road. 

"I  ought  to  know  it  in  the  dark,"  said  Jones.  "I 
don't  want  to  turn  on  the  searchliglit  if  I  can  help  it." 

To  and  fro  we  went  like  a  fluttering  bird,  until  the 
cleft  of  the  road  appeared  among  the  trees.  Then 
we  dropped  softl}^  to  the  ground.  I  was  almost 
too  cramped  and  cold  to  move.  With  difficulty  I 
descended  and  helped  Elizabeth  out.  David  followed, 
and  we  three  stood  chafing  our  hands  and  stamping 
until  the  circulation  was  restored. 

Jones  leaned  forward  from  the  airplane.  "I'll  run 
her  into  the  trees  in  case  an3^one  comes  along  and 
sees  her,"  he  said. 

"We  shall  not  see  you  until —  ?"  asked  David. 


196  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 


"Tm  not  going  back,"  answered  the  airscout. 
''Not  after  this  night's  work.  You'll  see  me  in  ten 
minutes." 

''You  are  going  to  join  us?"  inquired  David,  joy- 
fully.    "Is  it  —  do  you  mean  Hancock  knew  you?" 

"No.  That  wasn't  Hancock,  either.  I  know  who 
it  was  —  at  least,  I  think  I  know.  No,  I've  had 
enough  of  the  Twin  Bosses,  after  Elizabeth's  adven- 
tures. Put  me  down  as  the  first  airscout  who  went 
over." 

David  grasped  him  by  the  hand  and  shook  it 
warmly.  Jones  whistled  again,  drew  back,  and  the 
scoutplane  rose  to  the  tops  of  the  trees,  beat  about, 
and  vanished. 

David  turned  to  me.  "Arnold,  are  you  prepared 
for  a  great  and  stunning  revelation?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  he  is  prepared,"  answered  Elizabeth  for  me. 

We  set  off  through  the  trees  along  a  small,  well- 
worn  trail,  until  the  crumbling  bricks  beneath  us 
heaped  themselves  into  a  mound,  and  I  saw  the 
ruined  foundations  of  the  Institute  before  me,  and 
the  hole  in  the  cellar  roof.  A  sentinel  leaped  out 
at  us. 

"For  man?'*  he  asked,  leveling  a  Ray  rod. 

"And  freedom,"  answered  David. 

The  sentinel  called,  and  in  a  moment  a  crowd  came 
rushing  up  a  short  ladder,  wild-looking  men  with 
beards  and  hanging  hair,  all  dressed  in  tatters  and 


The  Messiah's  Annunciation  197 

rags,  a  woman  or  two,  and  a  youth  who  ran  forward 
with  a  cry  and  caught  Elizabeth  in  his  arms.  I  saw 
the  happiness  they  shared. 

David  led  me  to  a  tall  old  man  with  bowed 
shoulders  and  a  ragged  white  beard  that  spread  fan- 
wise  across  his  breast.  His  hands  were  seared  and 
twisted  like  those  of  one  who  has  lived  years  of 
hardest  toil,  and  the  staff  on  which  he  leaned  had 
a  crooked  handle. 

"Bishop  Alfred,"  he  said,  ''this  is  the  Messiah  who 
was  to  come." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  CHAPEL  UNDERGROUND 

TN  THE  subterranean  chapel,  lit  by  rushlights  that 
sent  the  shadows  scurrying  and  made  fantas- 
tically unreal  the  eager  faces  and  the  dissolving 
groups  that  clustered  now  around  me,  now  around 
David,  and  again  gathered  about  the  tall  old  bishop 
with  his  peasant's  face  and  child's  eyes,  David  told 
them  my  tale,  and  then  in  turn  told  me  the  legend 
that  I  had  brought  so  wonderfully  to  fulfillment. 

The  more  bewildered  I  appeared,  the  stronger 
grew  their  faith,  for  the  legend  foretold  that  I  was 
to  come  unknown  to  myself,  and  with  no  expectation 
of  my  own  mission.  They  saw  the  cylinder,  and 
there  was  none  who  doubted. 

There  were  some  thirty  men  and  women  present, 
of  whom  a  dozen  formed  an  inner  council  which  had 
already  formulated  the  plans  for  the  new  govern- 
ment. Some  were  delegates  from  outlaw  bands  in 
the  recesses  of  the  forests,  some,  like  David,  fugitives 
from  the  government  bureaux,  and  three  or  four, 
Paul  among  them,  those  who  had  most  recently 
escaped  from  the  defectives'  shops.  There  were 
representatives  of  various  trades,  who  had  come 
from  London  at  imminent  risk,  intending  to  return : 

198 


The  Chapel  Underground  199 

one  from  the  traffic  guild  I  noticed  in  particular,  a 
giant  of  a  man  with  a  black  beard  as  crisp  as  an 
Assyrian  king's,  who  said  that,  at  his  signal,  his 
guild  would  rise  and  fling  themselves,  to  a  man,  upon 
the  Guard. 

It  was  a  touching  reunion.  Two  generations  had 
gone  by  while  men  remained  in  ignorance  of  all  that 
we  and  our  ancestors  had  known :  popular  freedom, 
public  rights,  liberty  to  choose  their  trades,  the 
sanctity  of  family  life,  and,  above  all,  the  absence 
of  the  galling  inquisition  and  atrocious  tyranny  of 
Science  run  mad. 

The  elder  men  remembered  with  horror  the  period 
of  the  revolutions,  in  which  a  man  would  have  given 
all  that  he  had  for  life  and  bread.  They  regarded 
the  epoch  that  had  preceded  this  as  the  dark  age  of 
the  world,  much,  I  think,  as  we,  in  our  turn,  looked 
back  upon  the  freer  age  before  the  Reformation. 
They  had  a  misty  tradition  of  a  century  in  which 
men  starved,  in  which  the  rich  oppressed  the  poor 
and  the  poor  dwelled  in  foul,  sunless  tenements  and 
dressed  in  rags. 

That  tradition  was  true,  and  of  the  Moyen  Age, 
before  these  things,  of  course  they  knew  nothing. 
Now  all  had  bread  to  eat,  and  light  and  air ;  but  they 
lived  in  a  world  with  neither  hope  nor  joy,  resource 
nor  initiative,  nor  happiness  in  labor,  in  which  one 
cherished  the  home  ties  furtively,  while  over  their 


200  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

children  always  hung  the  menace  of  the  defectives' 
workshops,  or  the  horrors  of  the  Temple.  And  on 
them  preyed  the  privileged  caste  of  whites,  taking 
toll  of  their  daughters,  lording  it  as  judges  and 
bureau  bosses,  in  the  name  of  Science  emanating 
from  a  madman's  brain. 

I  began  to  gather,  to  my  relief,  that  only  the  very 
ignorant  believed  that  the  Messiah  would  be  a  super- 
natural being.  There  was  superstition  enough  hidden 
in  the  hearts  of  all,  for  faith,  denied,  creeps  in,  in 
strange  guises;  but  the  world  awaited,  rather,  the 
inevitable  leader  who  must  come  to  set  free  a  people 
grown  over-ripe  for  freedom.  For  the  horrors  of 
the  new  civilization  had  reached  the  point  where  men 
had  grown  reckless  of  life.  Everywhere  was  the 
anticipation  of  the  approaching  change,  and  even 
Sanson  must  have  seen  that  neither  his  Guard  nor 
his  great  Ray  artillery  could  save  his  crumbling 
power.  Science  had  overplayed  her  part  when  she 
had  bankrupted  human  hearts. 

Everywhere  the  deep  sense  of  intolerable  wrong 
was  spreading.  And  although  not  even  the  very  old 
remembered  the  time  when  Christianity  was  a  living 
faith,  yet  the  hopes  of  all  hinged  on  it.  There  was 
no  other  hope  for  the  world  but  the  same  Light  that 
lit  the  darkness  in  the  most  shameful  days  of  Rome's 
high  civilization.  So  they  had  enrolled  themselves 
beneath  that  ancient  banner  of  human    freedom; 


The  Chapel  Underground  201 

dozens  had  died  under  torture  rather  than  disclose 
the  hiding  place  of  their  treasured  Scriptures  —  of 
such  parts  as  had  come  down  to  them,  rewritten  in 
the  new  syllabic  characters.  There  w^as  a  rich  harvest 
to  come  from  many  a  martyr's  blood. 

So,  then,  there  had  filtered  down  through  the  years 
the  faith  that  in  2015,  or  seven  and  thirty  years  after 
the  institution  of  the  new  era,  a  Messiah  was  to  arise 
and  restore  freedom  to  man.  It  had  begun  with  the 
discovery  of  the  cylinder  that  contained  Esther's 
body,  somewhere  about  the  middle  of  the  preceding 
century,  and  after  the  first  revolutionary  outbreak. 

In  some  manner  unknown  the  cylinder  had  made 
its  appearance  in  the  world.  At  first  it  was  believed 
that  it  contained  only  the  embalmed  body  of  a 
woman,  within  a  case  fashioned  so  cunningly  that 
none  could  open  it.  But  later  the  rumor  spread  that 
at  the  end  of  a  certain  time  the  case  would  open  of 
itself,  and  the  woman  awaken  and  come  forth. 

I  inferred  that  Sanson,  in  spite  of  Lembken's  state- 
ment to  me,  had  obtained  access  to  Lazaroff 's  papers, 
and  had  shrewdly  resolved  to  turn  the  popular  legend 
to  his  own  use  by  placing  the  date  of  the  fulfillment 
of  the  prophecy.  He  set  the  cylinder  within  the 
Temple  and  diffused  the  report  that,  when  Esther 
awakened,  they  two  would  rule  the  world  together 
and  offer  immortality  to  man. 

The  cylinder  had,  then,  first  appeared  about  1950. 


202  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

It  had  become  the  symbol  of  the  Revolution  — 
Freedom  sleeping.  It  had  been  carried  before  march- 
ing armies.  It  had  been  a  rallying  point  for  the 
defeated.  Men  had  fought  and  died  over  it.  It  had 
been  struck  by  unnumbered  bullets.  It  had  been  lost 
and  regained  upon  a  dozen  battlefields.  Then  it  had 
vanished  with  the  inauguration  of  the  reactionary 
regime,  to  appear  once  more,  the  inspiration  of  new 
hopes,  when  Sanson  sprang  to  his  leadership,  like  a 
god,  about  the  year  1980. 

And  all  this  while  I  had  been  sleeping  within  the 
vault,  as  heedless  of  the  passing  years  as  Esther  in 
her  undreamed  of  journey ings.  That  I  had  escaped 
notice  was  due,  no  doubt,  to  the  single  fact  that  the 
wall  of  the  vault  had  fallen  in  and  hidden  my  cylinder 
from  sight,  embedded,  as  it  was,  in  mud  up  to  the 
neck.  Those  who  had  read  of  me  in  the  papers  might 
not  have  prosecuted  their  search  hard,  thinking  that 
the  cylinder  had  been  removed  already. 

As  the  years  went  by  an  amplification  of  the  legend 
had  spread  until  it  grew  to  be  a  rooted  popular  belief 
that  the  Messiah  who  was  to  come  would  issue  from 
a  second  cylinder.  That  was  the  reason  why  neither 
David  nor  Jones,  nor  any  in  the  cellar  doubted  me. 

Old  Bishop  Alfred  grasped  my  hands  in  his. 
"This  is  not  chance,  but  a  wonderful  sign  from 
God,"  he  said.  "To  think  that  while  we  met  here 
you  lay  within  that  case  a  few  feet  from  us !    I  have 


The  Chapel  Underground  203 


doubted  and  dreaded,  as  all  have,  but  nothing  can 
daunt  me  now.  We  shall  win  freedom,  we  shall  have 
our  two  names  again." 

David  whispered  to  me  that,  grown  a  little  childish 
with  age,  the  poor  old  man  longed  for  the  day  when 
he  could  assume  the  ancient  episcopal  pomp.  To 
sign  himself,  Alfred  London,  was  his  life's  dream, 
and  he  had  vowed  that  till  that  day  came  his  family 
name  should  never  pass  his  lips. 

After  I  had  heard  the  story  we  kneeled  in  prayer, 
and  the  Bishop  read  to  us  from  the  syllabic  version 
of  the  Bible,  as  it  was  known.     It  comprised  only  a 
few  portions  of  the  Old  Testament,  chiefly  parts  of 
Isaiah  which  some  scribe  had  thought  prophetic  and 
necessary  to  be  saved.     Of  the  Synoptic  Gospels 
there  existed  only  a  few  fragments,  too,  but  there 
was  the  "Sermon  on  the  Mount"  from  the  ''Beati- 
tudes" to  the  end,  and  the  whole  of  the  magnificent 
*'Gospel  According  to  St.  John,"  together  with  most 
of  "Acts"  and  "Corinthians,"  debased  to  some  extent, 
and  containing  interpolations  that  had  crept  in,  but 
on  the  whole  faithful  to  the  original.     Though  the 
entire  Bible  has,  of  course,  been  recovered,  I  am 
convinced,  and  many  agree  with  me,  that  the  world 
has  gained   immeasurably  by   the   removal   of   the 
scaffolding  of  the  Temple  of  Truth  during  more  than 
two  generations.    Never  again  will  literal  interpreta- 
tion be  placed  upon  Old  Testament  mythology,  the 


204  TJie  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

poetic  allegory  of  ''Creation  and  the  Fall,"  or  the 
chronology  that  offered  the  life  cycles  of  tribes  as 
the  events  of  one  man's  life;  nor  will  the  warrior 
god,  Jehovah,  be  considered  anything  but  an  incom- 
pletely discerned  aspect  of  the  divine. 

Afterward,  at  David's  urging,  I  rose  to  speak.  I 
hardly  knew  what  I  should  say,  but,  as  I  stood  in 
hesitation  before  the  meeting  some  Pentecostal  power 
seemed  to  lay  hold  of  me,  and  a  torrent  of  impas- 
sioned words  broke  from  my  lips,  till  I  felt  all  minds 
and  hearts  enkindled  from  the  flame  in  mine.  I 
spoke  of  the  old,  free  world,  of  old,  illogical,  and 
cherished  customs,  preserved  through  centuries, 
uniting  men  in  a  fellowship  that  logic  could  not  give ; 
of  ideals  and  traditions  carried  onward  from  age  to 
age,  ennobling  faith  and  strengthening  a  nation's 
soul;  of  pride  of  family  other  than  that  of  pedigreed 
stock;  of  initiative  and  resourcefulness,  charity  and 
good-will  for  weak  as  well  as  strong;  of  a  ruling 
class  bound  by  its  traditions  to  public  service,  and 
open  to  all  below  who  had  the  character  and  gifts  to 
enter  it. 

But  one  thing  I  could  not  explain;  when  Bishop 
Alfred,  rising,  incredulous  that  the  weak  should  have 
been  protected,  that  they  aroused  pity  instead  of 
wrath,  inquired,  if  we  had  really  had  this  Christian 
use,  why  we  had  lost  it. 

When  I  ended  I  came  back  to  myself,  to  find  that 


The  Chapel  Underground  205 

I  was  standing  tongue-Lied  before  them.  I  heard  a 
sigh  ascend  from  every  hp ;  and  then  they  were  about 
me,  falling  upon  their  knees,  grasping  my  hands, 
imploring  me  to  accept  their  service  and  devotion. 
Elizabeth  was  weeping  happily. 

"I  knew,  Arnold,"  she  said. 

Then  the  revolutionary  committee  took  their  seats 
upon  the  benches  and,  while  the  rest  gathered  about 
them,  proceeded  to  consider  the  reports  brought  in. 
It  was  an  informal  meeting,  hampered  by  none  of 
those  rules  made  by  democracy  for  the  restriction 
of  free  speech,  and  conducted  with  earnestness  and 
quiet  decorum.  Man  after  man  rose  up  and  made 
his  report,  the  leaders  of  the  guilds  pledging  so  many, 
describing  their  enthusiasm,  stating  the  number  of 
Ray  rods  in  his  possession,  and  pledging  absolute 
obedience  to  instructions. 

Then  I  was  acquainted,  as  succinctly  as  possible, 
with  the  progress  of  the  movement.  It  was  known 
that  during  the  next  few  days  Sanson  meant  to 
address  the  people  in  the  Temple,  using  some  anni- 
versary celebration  as  his  occasion.  He  was  uni- 
versally credited  with  the  plan  to  effect  a  coup  d'etat, 
deposing  Lembken  and  assuming  the  rulership  of  the 
Federation.  He  had  attached  the  Guard  to  him  with 
favors  and  gifts,  so  that  intense  hatred  existed 
between  it  and  Lembken's  airscouts.  There  was  thus 
a  triangular  contest  between  Sanson,  Lembken,  and 


206  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

the  revolutionaries;  and  the  fear  was  that,  if  the  air- 
scouts  were  split  by  faction,  the  Guard  would  over- 
whelm them  and  establish  Sanson  in  Lembken's 
place,  making  a  greater  tyranny  still. 

It  was,  therefore,  debated  whether  it  might  be 
possible,  as  unhappily  it  seemed  necessary,  to  make 
some  terms  with  Lembken  that  should  ensure  San- 
son's overthrow. 

"We  have  gained  one  piece  of  priceless  informa- 
tion from  you,  Arnold,"  said  David.  "We  know 
now  that  Sanson's  plans  relate  to  the  awakening  of 
Esther.  Five  days  is  almost  too  short  a  period  for 
our  plans  to  mature ;  yet  we  know  that  Sanson's  coup 
must  synchronize  with  the  opening  of  the  cylinder. 
It  is  believed  that  he  has  actually  made  some  dis- 
covery, not,  of  course,  of  immortality,  but  for  pro- 
longing life,  which  he  intends  to  offer  the  populace, 
should  any  champion,  posing  as  the  Messiah,  come 
forth  to  challenge  him.  That  will  be  a  test  such  as 
has  never  yet  been  made  in  the  world's  history,  the 
choice  between  liberty  and  immortality,  so-called. 
And  it  will  be  difficult  for  the  multitude  to  choose 
the  former  and  to  reject  the  latter." 

"If  the  people  have  the  choice  they  will  choose 
wisely,"  said  Elizabeth,  from  within  Paul's  arm. 
"Have  no  doubt  as  to  that." 

"How  do  you  know?"  asked  David. 

"Because  they  want  the  love  that  is  their  birth- 


The  Chapel  Underground  207 

right/'  she  answered  boldly,  ''and  love  knows  it  is 
immortal  and  does  not  fear  death." 

I  saw  the  committee  leader  smile,  and  there  came 
upon  his  face  a  very  affecting  look.  An  elderly  man, 
a  member  of  the  privileged  caste,  he  had  voluntarily 
laid  aside  the  white  robes  of  his  order  and  taken  to 
the  forests,  to  organize  the  beginnings  of  the  Revolu- 
tion. As  he  spoke,  the  detailed  scheme  began  to  be 
clear  to  me,  and  I  understood  that  the  rulers  of  the 
world  were  matched  by  no  mean  antagonists. 

First  he  alluded  to  the  belief,  already  current 
among  all  the  revolutionary  bands,  that  the  Federa- 
tion's troops  had  been  overwhelmed  before  Tula, 
and  that  the  Tsar's  forces  were  already  pouring 
through  Skandogermania  to  seize  the  battleplanes 
from  the  disaffected  airscouts  in  Hamburg  and 
Stockholm  and  launch  them  against  London.  It  was 
believed  that  the  Council  must  be  in  desperate  straits 
to  have  had  recourse  to  the  moving  picture  lie,  as 
worthless  as  the  falsehood  that  the  escaped  defec- 
tives had  been  retaken. 

What  seemed  to  me  a  psychological  confirmation 
of  this  report  was  the  circumstance  asserted  by  him, 
that  the  torture  of  heretics,  the  activities  of  the 
vivisectionists,  and  the  weeding  out  of  morons  were 
proceeding  with  unexampled  rigor.  For  tyranny 
always  becomes  most  cruel  when  it  approaches  its 
downfall,  by  inspiring  terror,  to  create  submission. 


208  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

"You  have  heard,"  continued  the  old  man,  ''how 
Lembken  lured  Arnold  to  the  People's  House. 
Lembken  knows  who  he  is.  Then  he  must  be  aware 
of  Sanson's  plans  and  is  plotting  to  use  Arnold  in 
a  counterstroke. 

''He  is  old  and  obese  and  pleasure-loving.  But 
you  must  not  forget  that  he  rose  to  power  by  the  most 
cunning  craft,  inspiring,  as  he  undoubtedly  did,  the 
murder  of  Boss  Rose,  and  buying  over  the  air- 
scouts.  Sanson  underrates  the  old  fox,  but  Lemb- 
ken has  his  ear  to  the  ground  all  the  while  he  is  sup- 
posed to  be  roystering  in  his  devil's  palace.  Now, 
friends,  we  can  despise  no  weapon  that  will  aid  our 
cause.  If  we  have  to  use  Lembken,  as  the  lesser 
evil,  in  order  to  unite  the  airscouts  under  Hancock 
against  Sanson  —  " 

"Never!"  shouted  the  black-bearded  leader  of  the 
traffic  guild.    "He  has  taken  —  taken — taken  —  " 

The  giant  broke  down  and  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands. 

"My  daughter,"  he  raved,  raising  his  face  with 
the  tears  streaming  down  his  cheeks,  and  clench- 
ing his  enormous  hands.  "Only  today  —  today  — 
I  would  not  desert  the  cause,  or  I  should  have 
forced  my  way  into  the  People's  House  and  killed 
him  —  " 

I  thanked  God,  the  father  did  not  know  that  I  had 
seen  her  in  the  Council  Hall. 


The  Chapel  Underground  209 

The  old  leader  got  up  and  put  his  arm  about  the 
giant's  shoulder. 

"But  for  the  sake  of  freedom  you  will  consent," 
he  said. 

The  other  threw  back  his  head.  *'Yes — for  the 
cause,  yes,"  he  answered  quietly,  and  moved  away. 
He  stood  with  head  drooping  upon  his  breast,  like 
some  huge  statue.  I  understood  then  the  strength 
of  the  enmity  to  the  government.  No  Ray  artillery 
could  withstand  such  a  wild  passion  as  the  deviltries 
of  Science  had  awakened. 

"I  can  only  offer  the  outlines  of  my  plan,"  resumed 
the  old  man,  returning  to  his  place,  "because,  at  such 
a  time,  we  must  trust  as  much  to  the  spontaneous 
instincts  of  our  people  as  to  a  detailed  scheme  which 
may  go  wrong.  But  it  seems  to  me  that  it  is  essen- 
tial first  to  enter  into  communication  with  Lembken. 
We  will  offer  him  his  palace,  perhaps,  and  an 
untroubled  life  hereafter.  It  is  a  hard  compro- 
mise, but  there  seems  no  other  way,  for  Sanson 
must  be  destroyed,  and  everything  depends  on 
Hancock. 

"Five  days  hence,  when  Sanson  summons  the 
people  into  the  Temple,  as  many  as  possible  of  our 
men  will  assemble  there,  with  Ray  rods  beneath 
their  tunics.  Arnold  will  advance  and  challenge 
Sanson.  We  shall  spring  forward,  seize  him,  possess 
ourselves  of  the  cylinder,  assume  possession  of  the 


210  The  Messiah  of  tJie  Cylinder 

Temple  buildings,  and  set  up  our  government. 
Meanwhile  the  airscouts  will  take  possession  of  the 
barracks  and  Ray  artillery. 

Here  I  interposed.  ''Is  this  the  only  way?"  I 
asked.  "Are  there  not  annual  elections  ?  Would  it 
not  be  possible  —  " 

I  was  unprepared  for  the  outburst  of  bitter 
laughter  that  answered  me. 

''Do  you  really  believe,  Arnold,"  asked  David, 
"that  anything  can  be  done  like  that  ?  Even  in  your 
other  life,  history  —  the  history  that  is  not  taught  — 
informs  me  that  the  election  of  popular  representa- 
tives had  become  farcical,  especially  in  the  home  of 
democracy,  America,  through  the  refusal  to  permit 
unauthorized  candidacies,  through  the  demand  for 
large  sums  of  money  to  be  deposited  as  a  preliminary, 
by  ballots  drowned  with  names  of  unknown  men, 
representing  nobody  knew  whom,  and  fifteen  to 
twenty  feet  in  length ;  by  ruffians  at  the  polls  —  a  de- 
vice much  used  in  Rome  when  she  started  on  the  dem- 
ocratic down-grade  that  led  to  tyranny;  by  stuffed 
ballots  and  lying  counts,  and  voting  machines  .... 
in  short,  Arnold,  we  have  so  far  improved  upon  those 
crude  devices  that  the  ballot  is  now  the  strongest 
weapon  in  our  masters'  hands.  And  when  freedom 
has  been  restored  it  will  never  be  seen  again.  We 
shall  never  count  heads,  except  among  small  bodies 
of  committees,  and  the  days  of  so-called  representa- 


The  Chapel  Underground  211 

tive  government  will  never  recur  so  long  as  men 
remain  free." 

It  was  evident  that  his  words  had  touched  their 
imaginations  in  some  way  unknown  to  me,  for  they 
sprang  to  their  feet  and  cheered  him  wildly.  I 
learned  afterward  that  all  the  laws,  the  most  sub- 
versive of  human  rights,  all  the  most  fearful  pro- 
mulgations of  Sanson  were  put  to  the  farcical  test  of 
public  approbation.  The  democratic  State  had  killed 
itself,  as  it  always  does,  but  the  shell  remained 
to  protect  the  tyranny  that  followed,  as  it  always 
does,  too. 

Before  the  noise  had  quite  subsided,  Jones,  who 
had  come  in  quietly,  stood  up  in  the  midst  of  the 
assembly. 

"The  plan  to  seize  the  Ray  artillery  is  impossible," 
he  said  bluntly. 

*'Why  ?"  demanded  a  dozen  voices. 

"Because  the  small  Ray  guns  upon  the  battleplanes 
are  useless  against  the  glow  paint  on  the  Guards' 
fortress,  and  the  Guards'  great  Ray  artillery  will 
pick  off  our  battleplanes  one  by  one  as  they  expose 
their  unprotected  parts  while  evolving  in  the  air. 
It  is  impossible  to  protect  the  parts  of  a  plane  around 
the  solar  storage  batteries,  because  the  glow  rays 
disturb  their  action.  Then,  again,  when  each  of  our 
men  has  discharged  his  Ray  rod,  where  is  he  to 
replenish  it  without  access  to  the  solar  storage  within 


212  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

the  Guards'  fortress  ?  Even  our  airplanes,  with  their 
week's  supply,  have  to  be  replenished  there." 

''Hold  a  battleplane  where  we  can  gain  access 
to  it,  so  that  the  rods  can  be  recharged  from  its 
supply." 

''Not  practicable,"  said  Jones. 

"If  each  man  has  three  Ray  rods,  he  can  kill  three 
of  Sanson's  men." 

"But  unless  you  take  the  fortress  the  Ray  artillery 
can  make  a  desert  of  London." 

"What  would  you  do,  then?"  asked  the  committee 
leader. 

"Cut  the  solar  supply  cables." 

"Twelve  feet  underground,  in  steel  and  concrete  ?" 

"No.  At  the  heart  of  the  world's  power  system," 
said  the  airscout.  "In  the  Vosges.  It  is  not  impos- 
sible. The  Ray  artillery  there  is  not  carefully 
guarded ;  the  early  nights  are  dark.  Make  Sanson's 
Ray  guns  useless  at  a  stroke,  and  then  storm  the 
fortress  in  the  old  way,  man  against  man." 

I  saw  the  face  of  the  black-bearded  leader  redden 
with  blood.    "Yes !"  he  cried,  "that  is  the  way." 

"And  then  we  shall  have  two  names  again  and 
life  will  be  free,"  said  Bishop  Alfred,  musing.  "Two 
names,  as  our  fathers  had." 

All  caught  the  enthusiasm.  The  committee  leader 
held  up  his  hand  for  silence.  "Wait!  Who  will 
go  ?"  he  demanded. 


The  Chapel  Underground  213 


'1  can.  I  will,"  replied  Jones,  boldly.  "I  was 
born  there.  My  father  was  a  Frenchman,  removed 
to  England  because  he  cherished  national  aspira- 
tions. I  will  succeed  or  die  there." 
'Where  will  you  get  the  airplane?" 
'1  have  it  here,"  said  Jones,  as  simply  as  if  he 
could  produce  it  from  his  pocket. 

Again  the  mad  clamor  burst  forth.  Jones,  as  the 
first  airscout  to  come  over,  filled  all  with  enthusiasm, 
and  belief  in  our  success. 

*'And  who  will  go  to  Lembken  as  our  emissary?" 
asked  the  committee  leader  presently. 
"I  will,"  I  answered. 

David  started  toward  me.  "No !  The  risk  is  too 
great,"  he  cried.  ''We  need  you  in  the  Temple  on 
the  appointed  day.  We  need  your  leadership  for  the 
sake  of  the  cause.  If  Lembken  refuses,  or  tricks 
you,  all  will  be  lost." 

I  answered  rather  sadly.  "You  forget,"  I  said, 
"that  I,  too,  have  all  I  hold  dear  at  stake.  For  this 
cause,  too,  I  shall  succeed  or  die." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

SANSON 

T70R  a  long  time  I  could  not  persuade  them  to 
let  me  go.  But  I  pleaded  so  hard  and  set  out 
the  arguments  so  forcibly  that  at  last  I  persuaded 
them.  For  it  was  clear  that  if  Lembken,  realizing 
that  his  power  was  waning,  should  accept  our  offer, 
then  my  plan  was  the  wisest;  and,  if  he  refused,  our 
desperate  chance  would  lose  but  little  by  my  death. 

It  was  even  possible  that  the  role  for  which  he  had 
cast  me  was  the  same  that  I  was  to  play  for  the 
Cause.  He  had  meant  to  use  me  against  Sanson; 
and  the  more  I  thought  of  it  the  stronger  grew  my 
conviction  that  he  had  meant  to  have  me  challenge 
Sanson  in  the  Temple. 

So,  one  by  one,  the  opposing  arguments  ended,  and 
the  committee  leader  gave  me  my  instructions. 

"You  must  evade  the  battleplanes  and  enter  Lon- 
don afoot,"  he  said.  "You  will  proceed  to  the 
People's  House,  demand  admission,  and  offer  Lemb- 
ken our  terms :  his  palace,  honors,  wealth  and  pleas- 
ures. If  he  accepts  you  will  return  to  us  bearing  his 
acceptance  in  the  form  of  writing,  that  we  may  have 
a  hold  on  him  to  use  with  Sanson,  should  he  betray 
us  afterward.     If  you  are  detected  by  the  search- 

214    . 


Sanson  215 

lights  before  you  reach  London,  you  will  be  taken 
before    Hancock,    to   whom   you   will    make   your 
demand  for  an  interview  with  his  chief.     A  mes- 
senger will  remain  posted  near  this  meeting  place 
in  order  to  convey  you  to  us  on  your  return,  wher- 
ever we  may  be.    Now,  God  be  with  you,  Arnold!'* 
I  think  they  understood  the  turmoil  in  my  heart, 
for  they  were  very  considerate,  and  troubled  me  with 
no  more  suggestions  than  these.    For  myself,  I  con- 
fess that  the  thought  of  Esther's  peril  obliterated 
from  my  mind  nearly  all  other  considerations,  and, 
in  truth,  I  cared  more  for  her  safety  than  for  the 
Cause.      I   could  do  nothing  till   the  time  of  her 
awakening  came;  but,  when  she  awakened,  I  meant 
to  be  at  her  side. 

The  rushlights  were  blown  out,  and  we  bade  each 
other  adieu  at  the  cellar  entrance,  and  separated. 
Many  of  those  who  were  present  had  traveled  miles 
through  the  forests  in  order  to  attend  the  meeting. 
It  had  been  arranged  that  David  and  Elizabeth 
should  make  their  quarters  with  the  band  com- 
manded by  the  leader,  to  which  the  bishop  and  Paul 
belonged.  I  was  to  accompany  them  as  far  as  the 
old  road,  where  our  paths  divided. 

When  we  reached  it,  Elizabeth  turned  and,  putting 
her  hands  upon  my  shoulders,  looked  very  earnestly 
at  me. 

"Arnold,"  she  said,  "the  day  is  near  when  we  four 


216  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

shall  be  friends  in  a  happier  world.  God  bless  you 
and  protect  the  woman  you  love." 

I  pressed  her  hands.  Then  David  grasped  my  own 
in  his. 

''Good-bye,  Arnold,"  he  said.  "The  Providence 
that  brought  you  to  me  will  act  to  save  us  all." 

And  he,  too,  was  gone.  I  waited  at  the  edge  of 
the  old  road,  watching  them  disappear  among  the 
trees.  The  last  thing  that  I  saw  was  the  bishop's 
white  beard,  a  spot  in  the  darkness.  Then  I  was 
alone,  with  the  London  road  before  me,  and  a  mis- 
sion as  desperate  as  any  that  was  ever  undertaken, 
and  as  pregnant  with  possibilities. 

I  do  not  know  how  long  I  had  been  traveling, 
whether  five  minutes  or  twenty,  nor  whether  I  walked 
or  ran.  I  became  conscious  of  a  soft  whistling  in  the 
air,  and,  glancing  up,  saw  a  dark  airplane,  black 
against  the  risen  moon. 

I  sprang  from  the  road  and  hid  myself  in  the 
underbrush. 

The  airplane  dipped,  passed  me,  and  dipped  again, 
with  the  purpose,  evidently,  of  alighting  in  the  road. 
It  passed  beyond  my  sight,  flying  low,  and  veering 
from  side  to  side  as  its  occupant  examined  the 
ground  for  a  resting  place. 

As  I  rose  to  continue  my  journey  I  heard  a  low 
hail  among  the  trees.  I  started  around,  to  see  the  old 
bishop  approaching  me  at  a  jog-trot.     He  came  up 


Sanson  217 

panting,  and  stood  before  me,  holding  his  pastoral 
staff  against  his  breast. 

"Did  you  see  the  airplane?"  he  asked,  following 
the  road  with  his  eyes. 

*'What  are  you  doing  here,  Bishop  Alfred?"  I 
asked  in  astonishment,  for  there  was  an  expression 
of  supreme,  benignant  happiness  upon  his  face.  "Are 
you  alone?" 

"Yes,  alone,"  he  answered,  smiling.  "I  left  them 
quietly.  They  would  not  have  let  me  go.  I  fol- 
lowed you  until  I  saw  the  airplane.  I  am  going  to 
Lembken  in  your  place." 

"But  you  will  be  put  to  death!"  I  cried.  "Surely, 
you  know  —  " 

"Yes,  but  that  is  all  right,"  he  answered.  "It  is 
three  years  now  since  any  priest  was  burned  for  the 
faith.  I  have  been  thinking  about  it  for  a  long  time. 
Now  I  am  ready.  I  am  going  into  the  People's  House 
to  preach  the  Gospel.  I  —  I  ran  away  from  David," 
he  added,  chuckling  at  the  success  of  his  maneuver. 

I  threatened  and  pleaded  in  vain,  for  the  old  man's 
face  had  the  joyousness  of  a  child's. 

"It's  no  use  talking,  Arnold,"  he  said,  patting  my 
arm  affectionately.  "I  am  a  stubborn  man  when 
my  mind  is  made  up,  and  it  is  made  up  now.  I  have 
thought  about  it  a  long  time.  You  see,  I  am  the  last 
bishop  in  England.  I  am  not  a  learned  man,  but 
the  Lord  Bishop  of  London"  —  how  happily  he  said 


218  Tlie  Messiah  of  tJie  Cylinder 

that!  —  ''laid  hands  on  me  an  hour  before  they 
burned  him  in  Westminster  Hall.  Now  it  is  right 
that  I  should  follow  him  and  take  on  martyrdom.  It 
will  give  inspiration  to  the  people.  It  will  be  a  won- 
derful encouragement  to  them  to  see  me  among  the 
fagots.  I  have  prayed  the  Lord  to  give  me  strength, 
because  I  am  a  cowardly  old  man,  and  He  has  done 
so.  I  should  like  to  consecrate  my  successor  before 
I  die.  But  the  Russians  will  take  care  of  that,  and 
it  is  fitter  that  they  should  renew  the  line  in  England. 
They  will  be  here  in  a  few  days  to  save  the  world,  and 
then  we  shall  all  be  one." 

''How  do  you  know?"  I  cried. 

"It  is  given  to  me  to  know,"  he  answered,  wagging 
his  white  head.  "So  there  is  no  longer  any  reason 
why  I  should  not  go  into  the  People's  House  and 
bear  testimony  to  the  truth.  You  can  go  back 
now.  I  will  carry  your  message  to  Lembken  before 
I  die." 

Before  I  could  restrain  him  he  had  started  off 
along  the  road,  and  his  quick  jog-trot  gave  him 
almost  as  much  speed  as  my  scrambling,  wild 
pursuit.  I  caught  him,  however,  a  hundred  yards 
away. 

"Bishop  Alfred,  you  must  go  back  to  your 
friends,"  I  said.  '^Your  idea  is  nonsense.  There  is 
no  need  to  sacrifice  yourself." 

He   shook   his   head   and   detached   himself.      I 


Sanson  219 

stumbled  over  a  projecting  root,  and  when  I  was  on 
my  feet  again  I  saw  the  old  man  another  fifty  yards 
away.  Once  more  I  was  approaching  him.  And 
then  I  halted  suddenly  and  drew  back  among  the 
trees,  for  just  beyond  the  bend  in  the  road  lay  the 
dark  airplane,  and  the  old  man  had  stopped  beside 
it,  evidently  waiting  to  be  taken  in. 

However,  since  he  continued  to  wait  there,  I 
advanced  noiselessly  toward  it,  with  the  hope  of 
rescuing  him,  until  I  realized  that  the  dark  airplane 
was  empty. 

The  occupant  had  left  it,  but  for  what  reason,  or 
where  he  had  gone,  I  could  not  surmise. 

I  was  just  where  the  old  road  joined  with  a  small, 
twisting  path  that  struck  back  among  the  trees. 
Some  instinct  cautioned  me  to  silence.  If  I  had 
spoken  ....  but  I  did  not  speak,  and  then,  among 
the  trees,  following  the  crooked  trail  not  fifty 
paces  away,  I  saw  the  aviator,  walking  with  head 
bent  downward,  evidently  unconscious  of  human 
proximity. 

I  held  my  breath  in  terror  lest  the  old  man  should 
speak.  But  he  stood  motionless  as  a  statue  beside 
the  dark  airplane;  he  seemed  wrapt  in  a  reverie. 
The  hope  arose  of  saving  him.  That  was  Hancock's 
airplane;  his  fate,  then,  lay  with  Hancock,  and 
Lembken  had  told  me  that  the  Air-Admiral  was  a 
Christian.     Surely  he  would  take  pity  on  the  old, 


220  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

childish  man.  He  knew  me.  I  might  appeal  to 
him  .... 

The  twisting  track,  which  had  hidden  him  from 
my  eyes,  brought  him  into  view  once  more,  clear 
against  the  low  moon  that  made  the  moving  figure 
a  silhouette  against  its  circle.  I  crept  up,  until  sud- 
denly I  reeled  and  nearly  fell,  overcome  by  the  mag- 
nitude of  my  discovery.  For  this  was  not  Air- 
Admiral  Hancock,  but  Hugo  Sanson,  the  madman 
who  ruled  the  Federation! 

For  a  few  moments  I  was  powerless  to  stir.  A 
raiding  beast  of  night  went  rustling  through  the  trees 
behind  me.  I  heard  an  owl  hoot.  I  lurked  like  some 
savage  in  the  underbrush,  and  everything  went  from 
my  memory,  save  Esther  in  peril,  and  Sanson,  the 
evil  genius  of  humanity,  powerless  in  my  hands  if  I 
could  spring  on  him  and  strangle  him  before  he  had 
time  to  draw  his  Ray  rod. 

Then  the  tracking  instinct  awoke  in  me.  I  began 
stalking  him  as  stealthily  as  any  moccasined  redskin 
followed  his  quarry.  He  was  now  only  twenty 
paces  away,  and  his  walk  showed  that  he  suspected 
no  danger. 

It  was  a  trail  unknown  to  me,  and  I  could  only 
follow  in  patience.  It  wound  to  right  and  then  to 
left,  until  at  last  it  blended  in  a  wider  trail.  And  then 
I  knew  where  I  was.  We  were  on  the  road  that  led 
to  the  cellar. 


Sanson  221 

The  scattered  bricks  became  the  heaping  piles.  I 
crouched  low.  Almost  upon  this  site  Sir  Spofforth's 
house  had  stood.  There,  where  the  beeches  waved 
their  leafless  arms  had  been  Esther's  tea-roses.  And 
here  were  briers,  sprung,  perhaps,  from  those.  It 
did  not  need  these  remembrances  to  make  my  resolu- 
tion firm. 

Sanson  was  going  down.  If  he  had  gone  there 
an  hour  earlier  he  would  have  walked  alone  into  the 
presence  of  men  who  had  a  thousand  deaths  laid  up 
against  him.    But  Fate  had  saved  him  for  me ! 

For  an  instant  the  thought  occurred  to  me  that 
possibly  Sanson,  acquainted  with  the  details  of  the 
popular  conspiracy,  had  come  to  offer  terms  against 
Lembken.  But  I  dismissed  that  thought  as  impos- 
sible. Sanson  would  hardly  have  come  there  for 
such  a  purpose ;  at  least,  he  would  have  come  with 
the  Guard. 

The  short  ladder  had  been  removed  and  hidden 
among  the  trees,  but  Sanson  seemed  to  know  the 
way  intimately.  Lying  upon  my  face  among  the 
bricks,  I  saw  Sanson  enter  the  cellar,  holding  in  one 
hand  a  little  solar  light.  He  passed  through  the  gap 
in  the  wall  into  the  vault. 

I  made  my  own  descent  with  infinite  care,  taking 
pains  to  dislodge  no  stone  that  might  betray  my 
presence.  Now  I  was  in  the  cellar  on  hands  and 
knees,  watching  Sanson  as  he  moved  to  and  fro  in- 


222  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

side  the  inner  chamber.  My  brain  was  working  like 
a  mill  —  and  yet  I  did  not  know  wholly  what  I  should 
do.  If  I  killed  Sanson,  could  I  be  sure  that  his  death 
would  set  Esther  free  ?  Could  I  seize  him  and  exact 
terms  from  him  ?  Then  there  was  a  certain  difficulty 
in  springing  upon  the  man  quickly  enough  to  prevent 
him  from  drawing  his  Ray  rod;  and  there  was  the 
innate  revulsion  against  choking  a  man  to  death. 

As  I  deliberated,  Fate  seemed  to  solve  my  prob- 
lem, for  my  fingers  touched  and  closed  about  a 
smooth  object  that  lay  on  the  ground.  For  a  moment 
I  thought  it  was  the  branch  of  a  tree.  But  no  branch 
grew  so  smooth.  A  polished  stave?  It  had  been 
fashioned  and  grooved  ....  It  was  a  Ray  rod. 

If  I  had  doubted  my  mission  I  ceased  to  do  so  in 
that  moment.  I  felt  along  the  weapon  in  the  dark- 
ness, from  the  brass  guard,  which  stood  up,  leaving 
the  button  unprotected,  to  the  little  glass  bulb  near 
the  head,  through  which  the  destroying  Ray  would 
stream.     I  raised  the  Ray  rod  and  aimed  it. 

The  solar  light  moved  in  the  vault,  and  the  shadow 
cast  by  the  wall  went  back  and  forth  as  Sanson 
tramped  to  and  fro.  He  was  muttering  to  himself. 
He  passed  across  the  gap,  and  the  little  light  shone 
on  me.  But  he  did  not  look  toward  me,  and  then  he 
was  behind  the  wall  again  and  the  light  vanished. 

Next  time  he  passed  I  would  fire.  Yet  I  did  not 
fire,  and  back  and  forth,  and  forth  and  back  he 


Sanson  223 

tramped,  talking  to  himself  as  any  lesser  man  might 
have  done.  I  had  no  compunction  at  all;  I  would 
have  killed  him  as  I  would  have  killed  a  deadly 
snake;  and  yet,  so  diabolical  was  the  fascination  he 
exercised  over  me,  I  could  not  press  the  button. 

I  gathered  my  resolution  together.  I  would  fire 
when  he  passed  the  gap  again.  No,  the  next  time. 
Well,  the  next,  then.  My  fingers  tightened  on  the 
handle.  I  saw  Sanson  emerge,  the  spark  of  light  in 
his  hand.  The  tight,  white  tunic  was  in  the  center  of 
the  gap.  Now !  I  pressed  the  button,  aiming  at  his 
heart. 

The  glass  of  the  Ray  rod  grew  fiery  red.  The 
button  seared  my  hand,  and  a  smell  of  charred  wood 
filled  my  nostrils.  I  dropped  the  weapon,  and  it  fell 
clattering  to  the  ground.  Sanson  was  standing  in 
the  gap,  unharmed. 

My  Ray  rod  was  the  one  that  I  had  unwittingly 
discharged  on  the  occasion  when  I  scrambled  for  the 
cellar  roof.  It  had  given  me  life  then ;  it  seemed  now 
to  have  brought  me  death.  Of  course  it  was  useless 
till  it  had  been  recharged;  now  it  emitted  only  the 
red-mull  rays :  heat,  not  cold  combustion. 

Sanson  had  halted  as  I  aimed.  Now,  at  the  sound 
of  the  falling  Ray  rod  he  sprang  forward  and  turned 
his  solar  light  on  me.  His  poise  was  a  crouching 
leopard's.  In  his  left  hand  he  held  the  light,  and  in 
his  right  was  his  own  Ray  rod,  covering  me. 


224         The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

I  looked  at  him,  I  stared  at  him,  I  rose  upon  my 
feet  and  staggered  to  him.  Something  in  his  poise, 
the  whitening  hair,  brushed  back,  something  in  the 
man's  soul  that  the  years  could  not  conceal  reminded 
me  ....  I  stood  looking  into  the  face  of  Herman 
Lazaroff ! 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  CYLINDERS 

CO  IT  was  you,  Arnold,"  said  Sanson  quietly. 
"Well  ....  what  do  you  think  of  Sir  Spof- 
forth's  theories  now?'^ 

All  my  hatred  and  fear  of  him  had  died  in  that 
blinding  revelation.  Bewilderment  so  intense  that  it 
made  all  which  had  occurred  since  my  awakening 
dim,  a  sense  of  pathos  and  futility  at  once  deprived 
me  of  my  fears  and  robbed  him  of  his  power;  and 
we  might  have  been  the  fellow-workers  of  the  old 
days  again,  discussing  the  problem  of  consciousness. 

He  seated  himself  on  the  mud  mound,  and  his 
voice  was  as  casual  as  if  we  had  just  returned  to  the 
laboratory  after  escorting  Esther  home.  And  indeed 
I  could  with  great  difficulty  only  convince  myself 
that  I  had  not  fallen  asleep  and  dreamed  this 
nightmare. 

''You  see,  it  has  all  come  to  pass,  Arnold,"  said 
Sanson,  twirling  the  Ray  rod  idly  between  his  fin- 
gers. "A  world  such  as  I  foretold  —  a  world  set 
free.  Enlightenment  where  there  was  ignorance; 
the  soul  delusion  banished  from  the  minds  of  all  but 
the  most  foolish;  the  menace  of  the  defective  still 
with  us,  but  greatly  shrunken;  the  logical  State  so 

225 


226  The  MessiaJi  of  the  Cylinder 

wonderfully  conceived  by  Wells,  with  Science  su- 
preme, and  almost  a  world  citizenship.  It  is  a 
glorious  free  world,  Arnold,  to  which  humanity  has 
fallen  heir,  and  the  fight  for  it  has  been  a  stupendous 
one.  And  it  is  a  world  of  my  creation !  I  have  done 
what  Caesar,  Charlemagne,  and  Napoleon  failed  to 
do;  I  have  brought  humanity  under  one  sway,  out 
of  the  darkness  into  light,  out  of  ignorance  to  knowl- 
edge. I  have  set  man,  poor  plantigrade,  on  his  feet 
firmly.  He  looks  up  to  the  skies,  not  in  the  blind  and 
foolish  hope  of  bodiless  immortality,  but  knowing 
himself  the  free  heir  of  the  ages.  Wasn't  it  worth 
the  battle,  Arnold  ?" 

My  sense  of  pity  deepened.  Surely  there  can  be 
no  worse  fate  for  any  man  than  to  accomplish  his 
desires!  I  thought  of  all  the  unknown  idealists  who 
had  given  their  lives  to  the  accomplishment  of  great 
projects  and  failed,  achieving  nothing — inventors, 
dreamers,  a  gray,  f antasmal  legion  whose  lost  hopes 
ranged  back  from  age  to  age;  and  I  saw  how  their 
works  were  blessed  and  their  failures  glorified  in 
contrast. 

''Yes,  I  thought  that  it  must  be  you  as  soon  as  I 
examined  the  sheets  from  the  Strangers'  Bureau," 
continued  Sanson,  in  his  matter-of-fact  manner. 
But  it  seemed  so  incredible  that  the  cylinder  had 
erred  that  I  allowed  my  pressing  duties  to  let  me 
forget  my  impulse  to  take  immediate  action.    Unfor- 


The  Story  of  the  Cylinders  227 


tunately,  while  we  were  fellow-workers  I  did  not 
take  your  finger-prints,  but  I  had,  of  course,  ob- 
served your  characteristic  indexes,  and  also,  if  you 
remember,  you  were  kind  enough  to  my  fad  to  permit 
me  to  take  your  cranial  measurements.  I  did  not 
think  that  there  could  exist  two  heads  like  yours, 
combined  with  those  indexes,  within  a  single  century. 
For  your  occipital  region  is  excellent,  approximating 
my  norm,  while  your  frontal  area  is  that  of  a  moron. 
In  short,  you  are  a  typical  Grade  2  defective,  Arnold 
—  essentially  so;  and  I  have  no  doubt  that,  thanks 
to  your  five  centimeters  of  asymmetrical  frontal  de- 
velopment, you  have  emerged  into  this  universe  of 
reality  still  clinging  fondly  and  affectionately  to  your 
dualistic  soul  theory. 

*'But  never  mind!"  he  continued,  smiling  rather 
grimly.  "I  have  no  intention  of  handing  you  over 
to  Lembken's  ridiculous  priests  to  be  tried  for  heresy. 
There  will  be  no  more  priests  after  a  little  while. 
The  public  mind  is  now  ripe  enough  for  the  abolition 
of  this  stupid  compromise  of  the  transition  period 
from  God  to  Matter.  One  more  animist  will  do  litde 
harm  in  a  world  in  which  they  are  still  far  from 
uncommon.  And  then,  I  am  not  a  man  of  cruel  im- 
pulses, Arnold,  and  I  do  not  want  to  penalize  you 
for  having  come  into  a  world  in  which  you  are  an 
anachronism.  So  you  have  spent  three  weeks  in 
London?"  he  ended,  scrutinizing  me  sharply. 


228  The  McssiaJi  of  the  Cylinder 

"Yes." 

"And  came  back  by  night  to  see  your  birthplace, 
I  suppose,"  he  said  maliciously.  "I  don't  know  how 
you  escaped  the  battleplanes.  Unless  they  are  grow- 
ing slack  ....  I  found  one  scoutplane  without  its 
searchlight  working,  and  shall  send  its  commander 
to  the  leather  vats  if  I  discover  him  ....  well,  Ar- 
nold," he  resumed,  ''I  could  not  believe  that  you 
had  come  out  of  your  cylinder  before  your  time. 
You  came  within  an  ace  of  disrupting  my  work,  my 
world,  if  you  only  knew  it  —  you  with  your  missing 
five  centimeters !  I  put  implicit  faith  in  Jurgensen's 
mechanism,  and,  as  it  proves,  I  was  to  blame.  I 
came  here  tonight  to  see  if  you  could  really  be  gone." 

''You  knew  that  I  was  here?" 

Why  not,  Arnold,  since  I  put  you  here?"  he  re- 
turned, looking  at  me  in  a  quizzical  manner.  "I  have 
paid  you  periodical  visits  during  the  last  five  and 
thirty  years.  You  looked  charming  in  your  sleep, 
Arnold!  The  fact  is,  it  was  a  difficult  situation. 
There  was  no  way  of  destroying  you,  even  if  I  had 
been  so  minded.  I  might  have  buried  you  ten  feet 
underground,  or  thrown  you  into  the  sea,  I  suppose, 
but  the  men  who  moved  you  would  have  betrayed 
me  unless  I  murdered  them  —  in  short,  it  was  a 
problem  how  to  dispose  of  you  without  violating  my 
naturally  humane  impulses.  So  I  did  the  best  thing — 
covered  the  cylinder  with  mud  and  let  you  lie  here. 


The  Story  of  the  Cylinders  229 

"That  Jurgensen  timepiece  was  splendidly  con- 
trived, Arnold,"  he  continued.  "Too  splendidly,  in 
fact,  for  in  the  haste  of  sealing  you  I  left  the  pointer 
six  months  ahead  of  time,  as  well  as  with  Esther. 
It  has  perhaps  occurred  to  you  that  you  went  to 
sleep  in  June  and  awoke  in  December  ?" 

It  had  not  occurred  to  me,  but  I  made  no  answer 
to  his  sneering  question. 

"In  fact,  Jurgensen  gave  me  a  six  months'  leeway 
on  his  hundred-years  clock,  and  the  complication  of 
figures  prevented  me  from  discovering  it.  I  moved 
the  pointer  to  the  end  of  the  dial,  assuming  that  the 
last  point  was  a  hundred,  and  not  a  hundred  and  a 
half.  And  then,  Arnold,  there  was  another  most 
regrettable  mistake.  You  remember  that  you  were 
sealed  up  quickly,  and  rather  impulsively,  so  to  say  ? 
I  found  that,  in  hurriedly  capping  you  down,  I  for- 
got entirely  to  add  twenty- four  days  upon  the  smaller 
dial  for  the  leap-years;  and  so  you  returned  that 
much  ahead  of  Esther.  It  was  a  very  bungled  ar- 
rangement excusable  in  you,  but  not  in  me." 

"Lazaroff!"  I  began,  and  then  corrected  myself 
with  an  apology  as  I  saw  his  brows  contract. 
"Sanson—" 

"Thank  you,"  he  replied  ironically. 

"You  will  at  least  answer  two  or  three  questions, 
will  you  not?"  I  pleaded.  "How  did  you  induce 
Esther  to  enter  the  second  cylinder  ?    Why  did  you 


230         The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

trick  me?  And  how  have  you  contrived  to  outlive 
the  century  without  appearing  more  than  half  your 
age?     I  think  my  questions  pardonable." 

*'I  shall  answer  them  all,"  said  Sanson.  "I  may 
tell  you  that  it  was  never  my  plan  to  send  our  mon- 
keys ahead  of  us  into  this  world.  I  meant  to  go, 
Arnold.  But  unexpectedly  there  came  into  my  life 
something  against  which  I  had  made  no  provision. 
In  other  words,  absurd  as  it  sounds,  I  fell  in  love. 
Then  I  planned  to  take  Esther  with  me.  But  this 
plan,  too,  was  changed,  for,  to  be  quite  frank,  I 
gathered  that  she  preferred  you  to  me.  I  then  con- 
ceived the  entertaining  idea  of  taking  you  both  with 
me,  so  that  our  rivalry  might  be  renewed  in  a  world 
where  your  advantages  of  personality  would  be  coun- 
terbalanced by  my  power.  Arnold,  I  never  for  an  in- 
stant doubted  that  I  should  stand  where  I  stand  today. 
So,  having  persuaded  you  to  enter  the  cylinder  — 
and  how  I  laughed  at  your  imbecile  complaisance  — 
I  invited  Esther  to  follow  you.  There  was  no  diffi- 
culty. On  the  contrary,  she  could  hardly  be  con- 
vinced that  I  was  in  earnest.  However,  I  speedily 
convinced  her  by  the  simple  process  of  putting  on  the 
cap.  Then,  since  the  cylinders  can  be  manipulated 
from  within,  I  myself  entered  the  third." 

"You,  Sanson!"  I  gasped.  "You,  too,  have  slept 
a  hundred  years?" 

His  look  became  envenomed,  and  the  quick  gust 


The  Story  of  the  Cylinders  231 


of  passion  that  came  upon  him  was,  to  my  mind,  evi- 
dence of  a  mentality  unbalanced  by  unrestrained 
authority. 

"Arnold,"  he  cried,  "would  you  believe  that  an 
end  so  carefully  planned,  so  mastered  in  each  detail, 
could  be  thwarted  by  an  instant's  lack  of  balance? 
You  remember  that,  of  the  three  cylinders,  one  was 
already  set  a  century  ahead  ?    That,  save  for  the  six 
months'  leeway  that  existed  on  all  the  dials,  and  was, 
therefore,  immaterial  —  that  one,  calculated  to  the 
utmost  nicety,  leap-years  and  all,  was  the  one  I  had 
selected   for  myself   already.      That  was   the   one 
Esther  entered.    The  dial  upon  the  second  cylinder  I 
set  in  your  presence,  but  omitted  the  four  and  twenty 
days.     That  was  your  cylinder.     And  the  third  — 
mine  —  do  you  remember?  —  was  set  to  sixty-five. 
"I  removed  this  cylinder  to  a  second  vault  of  which 
you   do  not  know.      I   awoke   in    1980.      Arnold, 
I  entered  it  and  forgot  the  dial!     When  I  recov- 
ered strength  — and  I  had  supplied  some  food  prod- 
ucts to  last  me  during  that  brief  period  of  recovery 
—  I  hurried  to  this  vault.     I  found  only  your  cyl- 
inder, behind  the  fallen  bricks.     When  I  saw  that 
you  still  slept  I  thought  your  mechanism  had  gone 
wrong.     Then,  going  back  to  examine  my  cylinder, 
I  realized   the  truth.    I,  who  had  loved  Esther  with 
all  my  power,  and  vowed  with  all  my  will  to  win  her, 
I,  a  young  man  of  twenty-five,  must  wait  for  five 


232  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

and  thirty  years  before  she  awakened.  When  my 
time  came  to  claim  her  I  would  be  old.  O,  Esther, 
what  I  have  endured  during  these  years!" 

The  baffled  love  of  half  a  life-span  overcame  him. 
I  watched  him,  almost  as  shaken.  The  tyrant  of  half 
the  world,  greater  than  any  man  had  been  since  the 
days  when  the  Caesars  reigned,  he  had  bound  him- 
self to  a  more  awful  law  than  any  he  could  contrive. 
It  wrung  my  heart  even  then,  the  man's  grim  hopes 
and  long  enduring  love,  checked  by  so  slight  a  chance. 

'T  found  Esther  was  gone,"  continued  Sanson 
presently,  rising  and  beginning  to  pace  the  vault. 
*T  might  have  re-entered  my  cylinder,  but  I  did  not 
know  whether  she  survived  in  hers.  I  knew  my 
ambitions  claimed  me,  and  my  duty  to  save  humanity 
and  raise  it  up  from  the  ape.  Even  she  had  to  yield 
to  that  sacred  and  pitiful  impulse.  I  learned  soon 
that  the  cylinder  which  contained  her  had  been  dis- 
covered and  adopted  as  a  symbol  of  freedom.  I 
found  the  world  aflame  and  flung  myself  into  the 
heart  of  the  revolution.  By  will  I  made  myself  the 
master  of  men.  In  six  months  my  dominance  was 
unquestioned.  I  could  have  become  supreme,  but  I 
chose  to  work  through  others,  that  I  might  have  the 
leisure  to  devote  myself  to  my  plans  for  the  regen- 
eration of  man.  I  have  succeeded ;  I  have  made  the 
world  better,  Arnold,  and  I  have  made  it  free.  But 
now,   when  at  last  the   reward   of  my   long  toil 


The  Story  of  the  Cylinders  233 


approaches,  when  at  last  I  can  show  Esther  what  I 
have  achieved  for  her,  and  lay  the  world  at  her  feet,  I 
am  an  old  man,  and  the  prize  has  turned  to  ashes." 
His  grief  conquered  him  again,  and  he  paced  the 
vault  like  a  madman,  weeping  with  all  the  abandon- 
ment of  one  who  is  above  the  need  of  conventional 
repressions.     I  remembered  the  antics  of  the  crowd 
that  followed  me  to  the  court.     Sanson's  grief  was 
as  unrestrained  as  their  malice.     But  I  was  brought 
back  from  pity  by  the  realization  of  this  new  and 
dreadful  complication.     Sanson  loved  Esther  still. 
And  he  had  worked  for  her.     I  recalled  her  imma- 
ture feminist  views.     He  had  believed  her  youthful 
impatience  of  authority  rested  upon  as  firm  a  con- 
viction as  his  beliefs!     He  thought  he  had   freed 
humanity.    And  all  the  uncountable  wrongs  of  earth 
had  been  heaped  up  by  him  as  a  love-offering  to  lay 
at  Esther's  feet. 

I  flung  my  prudence  away.     I  clasped  him  by  the 
hands. 

'^Sanson,"  I  pleaded,  ''don't  you  see,  don't  you 
understand  what  the  world  is  today  ?  Each  age  has 
its  own  cruelties  and  wrongs ;  but,  if  poverty  has  been 
abolished,  have  you  not  set  a  heavier  yoke  upon 
men's  necks  ?  Their  children  torn  from  them,  the 
death-house  for  the  old,  the  vivisection  table " 

'That  is  all  true,  Arnold,"  he  answered,  ''and 
sometimes,  even  now,  that  old,  inherited  weakness 


234         The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

that  men  termed  conscience  stirs  in  me.  That  fatal 
atavistic  folly!  —  for  what  is  death,  after  all?  A 
painless  end,  a  placid  journey  into  nothingness,  a 
resolution  of  the  material  atoms  into  new  forms, 
which  shall,  in  turn,  create  that  consciousness  men 
used  to  term  a  soul.  Their  children?  Bah!  Ar- 
nold, through  suffering  we  win  upward.  In  the 
world-nation  that  is  to  come,  the  narrow,  selfish 
instinct  called  parental  love  —  a  trick  of  Nature  to 
ensure  the  rearing  of  the  race  —  will  not  exist.  It 
will  have  served  its  purpose.  All  I  have  done  is 
nothing  in  comparison  with  the  great  secret  now 
almost  within  my  grasp.  That  is  the  meaning  of  the 
vivisection  table  —  the  research  work  that  will  en- 
able me  to  offer  man  immortality!" 

I  recoiled  in  horror  at  the  sight  of  the  fearful 
fanaticism  upon  his  face. 

''Yes,  it  is  that,  Arnold,  which  I  am  almost  ready 
to  bestow  upon  the  world!"  he  cried  triumphantly. 
"The  old  problem  of  consciousness  and  tissue  life  on 
which  we  worked  so  long  has  practically  been  solved 
by  means  at  my  disposal  in  a  civilized  world.  Then 
we  shall  live  indeed.  There  will  be  no  requirement 
that  knowledge  should  progress  painfully  through 
the  inheritance  of  our  fathers'  labors.  We  ourselves 
shall  climb  the  ladder  of  omniscience.  The  fit  shall 
live  forever,  and  we  shall  weed  out  the  moron  and 
defective  without  scruple,  preserving  a  race  of  mor- 


The  Story  of  the  Cylinders  235 


tal  slaves  to  labor  for  us  in  the  factories  and  in  the 
fields,  holding  them  subdued  by  the  threatened  loss 
of  that  life  which  we  shall  control  and  permit  to 
them  so  long  as  they  are  obedient.  That  is  the  noble 
climax  of  man's  aspirations.  Immortal  life,  in  these 
bodies  of  ours,  and  Esther  mine,  not  for  a  span,  but 
for  eternity!" 

I  believed  him  —  I  could  not  help  but  believe. 
Can  anything  be  impossible,  so  long  as  man  is  gifted 
with  free  will  for  good  and  evil  ?  Must  he  not  have 
the  ladder  to  scale  Olympus,  and  thereby  learn  of 
heights  beyond?  I  flung  myself  upon  my  knees 
before  Sanson,  like  some  poor  father  pleading  for 
his  son's  life,  and  implored  him  to  draw  back.  As 
he  stood  watching  me  I  babbled  about  the  terror  in 
the  world,  the  boon  of  death,  the  long-linked  chain 
of  humanity,  bound  all  together  as  a  spiritual  unit, 
which  he  would  sever.  I  reminded  him  of  the  old 
days  under  Sir  Spofforth,  of  the  old,  free  world  we 
had  lost.  How  had  he  bettered  it  ?  I  think  I  moved 
him,  too,  though,  when  I  ended,  he  was  regarding 
me  with  a  cold  smile  of  negation. 

"You  want  me  to  turn  back,  Arnold,"  he  said. 
"Once  there  was  a  time  when  I  hesitated.  But  .... 
can  even  that  God  of  yours  turn  back?  Come  with 
me,  Arnold,  and  for  the  sake  of  the  old  friendship 
to  which  you  have  appealed  I  will  give  you  power. 
Defective  as  you  are,  you  shall  live  your  life  to  the 


236  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

full  capacity  of  your  talent.  You  shall  not  suffer 
because  you  came  so  unkindly  into  this  world  of  ours. 
If  your  mind  turns  toward  pleasures  such  as  that 
foul  defective  Lembken  enjoys,  they  shall  be  yours. 
If  not,  then  you  shall  work  with  me  as  you  used  to  do. 
When  I  and  Esther  rule  the  world  together,  immor- 
tal as  the  fabled  gods,  you  shall  sit  at  our  feet  and  be 
our  confidant." 

That  I  hoped  still  to  win  Esther  had  never  en- 
tered the  man's  mind.  The  sublimity  of  his  egotism 
was  the  measure  of  his  blindness.  Just  as  he  had 
entered  the  cellar,  so  self-absorbed  that  he  had  failed 
to  see  the  benches  and  the  crucifix,  nor  dreamed  that 
here,  where  his  evil  dreams  began,  their  end  was 
planned,  so,  now,  he  did  not  see.  The  devilish  will 
that  had  carried  him  thus  far  would  bring  him  to 
destruction. 

At  my  hands,  if  I  played  the  part  shrewdly.  But 
I  lost  all  self-command. 

"Though  you  have  all  the  world  at  your  feet, 
Sanson,"  I  cried,  ''you  can  never  hold  me  to  obedi- 
ence, nor  Esther  either.  I  love  her,  and  we  shall 
both  die  before  we  yield !" 

For  an  instant  I  saw  his  face  before  me,  twisted 
with  all  the  passions  of  his  thwarted  will ;  then  I  saw 
the  blinding  white  light  leap  from  his  Ray  rod  as 
he  fired  at  me. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  SWEEP  OF  THE  NET 

**T  AM  not  at  all  afraid,"  I  retorted,  nettled  at 
Lazaroff's  sneer,  *'but  how  do  I  get  in?" 

A  dog  was  yelping  somewhere  outside  the  Insti- 
tute, and  all  the  dogs  in  Croydon  seemed  to  have 
taken  up  its  challenge.  It  was  difficult  for  me  to 
make  my  voice  audible  above  the  uproar. 

''I  am  not  at  all  afraid,"  I  repeated,  "but — " 

I  was  back  in  the  cellar  with  Esther  and  Lazaroff, 
and  we  were  examining  the  cylinders.  As  I  looked 
about  me,  I  seemed  to  be  in  the  cylinder  still,  but 
gradually  it  expanded,  until  it  became  a  vast  hall, 
dark,  save  for  a  little  window  near  the  ceiling, 
through  whose  half -opaque  crystal  a  little  light  fil- 
tered in  dimly. 

Lazaroff  seemed  to  have  aged.  He  wore  a  white 
beard,  and  his  touch  was  very  gentle  as  he  bathed  my 
face  with  water.  As  I  stared  at  him  he  became 
....  somebody  whom  I  had  once  known  .... 
Bishop  Alfred! 

''Now  you  are  better,"  said  the  old  man,  with  his 
child-like  smile. 

I  put  my  hand  up  to  my  aching  head.  There  was 
a  scarred  groove  along  the  top  of  the  scalp,  where 

237 


238  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

the  glow  ray  had  plowed  its  passage.     I  began  to 
remember  now. 

The  howling  of  the  dogs  broke  out  afresh.  The 
din  was  terrific,  and  the  mournful  tones  of  the  poor 
animals'  cries  made  the  place  a  pandemonium. 

"Arnold !"  whispered  a  soft  voice  at  my  side. 

Elizabeth  was  kneeling  there,  and  David  stood 
behind  her.  Next  to  David  stood  the  little  woman 
who  had  been  our  neighbor  in  the  Strangers'  House, 
and  a  multitude  of  men  and  women,  and  children, 
too,  watched  me  through  the  gloom. 

"Where  am  I?  Who  are  all  these?"  I  asked. 
Then,  lighting  upon  a  more  momentous  question, 
"How  long  have  I  been  here  ?" 

"Three  days,  Arnold,"  whispered  Elizabeth. 

"Then  in  two  days  —  two  days — "  I  gasped. 

"No,  Arnold,  tomorrow  is  the  day,"  interposed 
David,  coming  up  to  me  softly.  "Sanson  has  pro- 
claimed a  meeting  in  the  Temple  at  sunrise,  and  it 
is  now  late  afternoon.  We  are  all  in  his  trap.  He 
must  have  found  you,  taken  you  unaware,  and  fired 
at  you,  but  afterward  he  changed  his  mind  and 
brought  you  here  in  his  dispatchplane,  where  he 
found  Bishop  Alfred  awaiting  him,  and  Elizabeth 
and  myself,  who  had  gone  back  to  find  him.  I 
bought  a  few  days'  respite  by  surrender,  and  there 
was  even  pleasure  in  the  thought  that  my  daughter 
will  not  meet  her  fate  in  Lembken's  palace." 


The  Sweep  of  the  Net  239 


"Where,  then?"  I  asked,  struggling  painfully  up. 

"In  the  Vivisection  Bureau  —  with  these,"  he  an- 
swered, indicating  the  assemblage. 

"Where  are  we,  David?"  I  cried  in  anguish. 

"Beneath  it.  In  the  vaults  where  Sanson  keeps 
his  morons.  Christians,  criminals,  and  dogs,  to  await 
the  table." 

I  was  upon  my  feet  raving  like  a  madman,  making 
my  way  round  the  vault,  striking  my  fists  against 
the  damp  stone  walls,  crazed  with  the  thought  of 
Esther.  They  followed  me,  and  some  laid  their 
hands  on  me  in  restraint,  but  I  thrust  them  away. 
They  thought  I  could  not  bear  to  share  their  wretched 
fate.  But  the  nearness  of  the  crisis,  the  thought  of 
Esther  in  Sanson's  power  deprived  me  of  my  senses. 

The  vault  was  an  enormous  one,  the  only  access 
being  at  the  far  end,  by  means  of  an  oak  gate,  heavily 
barred.  In  this  further  portion  were  chained,  all 
along  the  walls,  the  dogs  destined  for  the  experi- 
mental work  above.  As  I  drew  near  the  gate  the 
howling  broke  forth  afresh.  It  steadied  me;  I  came 
back  to  my  senses ;  somebody  was  at  my  side,  clasp- 
ing my  arm  and  speaking  a  few  timid  words  in  my 
ear. 

I  swung  around  and  caught  at  the  little  woman- 
who  had  been  our  neighbor.  She  had  her  children 
with  her,  and  the  three  held  each  other  closely,  as 
if  their  last  hour  had  begun. 


240         The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  I  asked. 

I  did  not  know  David  was  near,  but  at  the  words 
he  clasped  me  in  his  arms. 

*'She  is  here,  Arnold,"  he  answered,  "because  the 
last  act  of  terrorism  has  brought  her.  Sanson's  rea- 
son has  left  him,  and  he  has  flung  his  net  wide  over 
London  for  victims.  He  has  gathered  everyone : 
morons.  Christians,  criminals,  suspects.  She  taught 
her  children  fairy  stories.  The  inspectors  had  long 
suspected  it,  and  they  terrified  the  little  girl  into 
admission  by  threatening  to  kill  the  mother.  They 
were  then  adjudged  morons.  The  mother  pleaded  to 
be  allowed  to  accompany  them  to  the  table,  alleging 
that  her  father  had  been  color-blind.  Her  prayer 
was  granted;  she  is  going,  Arnold;  we  all  are 
going—" 

"No,"  said  the  old  bishop  in  a  regretful  tone, 
"not  one  of  us  is  going.  You  see,"  he  added  in  ex- 
planation, "the  Russians  are  in  Stockholm,  and  it 
will  not  be  long  before  they  arrive  in  London  to  free 
the  world.  That  is  why  Sanson  lost  his  self-control. 
He  knows.  He  wants  to  finish  his  enemies  at  home 
before  they  come." 

"How  do  you  know?"  demanded  David,  while 
everyone  grew  still  and  listened. 

"It  is  given  to  me  to  know,"  said  Bishop  Alfred 
simply,  beaming  and  rubbing  his  hands.  "I  should 
like  to  have  followed  my  dear  master,  the  Lord 


The  Sweep  of  the  Net  241 

Bishop  of  London,  to  the  fagots,  but  none  of  us 
will  go  to  the  tables  now,  and  we  shall  all  have  our 
two  names  again." 

David  drew  me  aside.  "Arnold,"  he  said,  "this 
situation  would  have  robbed  stronger  men  of  their 
wits.  I  am  afraid  that  our  case  is  hopeless.  One 
of  the  Guard,  who  knows  me,  has  told  me  that  San- 
son is  preparing  for  a  holocaust  of  victims  tomorrow, 
to  celebrate  his  coup.  He  will  stop  at  nothing  to 
appease  his  blood  thirst.  Arnold,  all  our  people  know 
who  you  are.  For  their  sake  you  must  lead  and 
show  them  how  to  die,  as  the  first  Christians  died. 
It  is  hard,  my  dear  boy — " 

I  knew  he  was  not  thinking  of  death,  but  of  my 
tragedy. 

"Your  capture  has  rendered  our  plans  abortive," 
he  went  on.  "But  still  there  may  be  some  hope 
unguessed  by  us.  Unto  the  last  we  will  not  impugn 
God's  power.  Now,  my  friends,"  he  added,  turning 
toward  the  crowd,  which  circulated  in  the  vault 
slowly,  always  following  me,  "let  us  show  the  Guard 
where  our  strength  lies." 

In  the  gloom  of  the  vast  vault,  above  the  howling 
of  the  dogs,  the  hymn  was  raised,  old  Bishop  Alfred 
leading,  in  a  voice  singularly  sweet,  although  in 
speech  the  tones  were  broken.    All  kneeled. 

Afterward  David  spoke  briefly.  He  reminded  us 
of  the  brave  traditions  of  martyrdom  and  its  happy 


242  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

expectancy.  We  were  going  to  face  our  fate  to- 
gether, strengthened  by  our  companionship  and  in 
the  knowledge  that  our  death  would  create  a  revul- 
sion of  sentiment  that  would  sweep  Sanson  from 
power  and  restore  Christianity  to  the  world.  They 
cried  out  their  approval,  and  there  was  no  face  but 
reflected  David's  dauntless  resolution.  Then  it  was 
as  if  some  soul  of  merriment  swept  over  us  all.  I 
saw  strangers  embracing,  there  was  clapping  of 
hands,  and  the  concluding  hymn  was  shouted  so 
joyously  that  a  slit  in  the  little  window  overhead 
was  thrust  back,  and  I  saw  the  face  of  a  sentinel  stare 
in  on  us  with  something  of  superstitious  awe. 

The  glass  must  have  been  soundproof,  like  that 
which  enclosed  Lembken's  gardens,  for,  as  the  slit 
was  pushed  back,  I  heard  the  cries  of  the  multitude 
in  the  courts  above : 

"Sanson!  Sanson!  Sanson !"  they  howled.  "Out 
with  the  Christian  morons  I  To  the  Rest  Cure !  The 
Rest  Cure!'' 

The  slit  was  pushed  into  place,  cutting  off  all 
sound.  Darkness  was  falling.  The  little  light  within 
the  vault  faded.  Gradually  the  voices  died  away. 
Sometimes  a  hymn  would  be  started,  but  mostly  we 
sat  silent  now,  and  even  the  dogs  ceased  howling, 
and  only  stirred  and  whined  at  intervals.  I  heard 
the  little  woman's  children  whimper,  and  fancied 
her  motherly  face  bent  over  them  as  she  quieted  their 


A  man  near  me  leaped  up  and  craned  his  neck,  looking  into 

the   oloom 


The  Szveep  of  the  Net  243 


fears.  I  only  felt  Elizabeth's  presence,  and  that  of 
David,  good,  fatherly  man,  on  whom  I  leaned  more 
than  he  knew.  At  last  the  only  sounds  were  the 
bishop's  mumbling  voice,  as  he  talked  to  himself, 
and  the  staccato  tapping  of  his  stick  on  the  stone 
floors. 

'They  are  coming,"  I  heard  him  say.  'They  are 
gathering  up  the  Stockholm  fleets.  They  will  be 
here—" 

''Who?"  I  burst  out. 

"The  Russians,"  he  answered  gently.  "See  them 
coming;  big  men,  with  bloody  crosses  on  their 
breasts." 

A  man  near  me  leaped  up  and  craned  his  neck, 
looking  into  the  gloom.  One  or  two  cried  out  at 
the  old  bishop's  words,  and  some  listened  and  whis- 
pered eagerly.  Time  passed.  Most  of  the  prisoners 
slept.  I  was  still  too  sick  and  dizzy  from  my  wound ; 
I  waited  in  a  sort  of  apathy,  and  I  seemed  to  see 
Esther  within  the  opening  cylinder,  and  Sanson, 
creeping  like  a  foul  beast  of  prey  toward  her. 

I  had  been  dozing.  I  started  up  at  the  sound  of 
bolts  being  withdrawn,  the  heavy  door  at  the  far  end 
of  the  vault  was  opened,  and  flashing  lights  shone  in 
on  us.  The  dogs,  awakened,  began  to  howl  again. 
There  was  the  stamping  of  heavy  boots  upon  the 
stones,  and  a  detachment  of  the  Guard  appeared 
before  us. 


244         The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 


They  numbered  seven.  Six  of  them  were  pri- 
vates, carrying  solar  torches  and  Ray  rods;  and  in 
their  midst  stood  a  tall  man  with  a  black  beard  and 
a  curved  sword  sheath  that  clanked  on  the  stones. 
I  recognized  in  him  Mehemet,  the  Turkish  com- 
mander. 

Some,  who  had  slept  and  mercifully  forgotten  all, 
sat  up  in  bewilderment,  others  leaped  up,  thinking 
the  hour  had  come.  As  we  stood  blinking  at  the 
lights,  Mehemet  spoke  a  few  words,  and  the  soldiers 
flashed  their  torches  into  our  faces  until  they  lighted 
on  mine.  Then  Mehemet  stepped  forward  and  laid 
his  hand  on  my  shoulder,  and  drew  me  toward  him; 
and  the  soldiers  closed  about  us. 

David  sprang  toward  them. 

"You  shall  not  take  him  alone !"  he  cried.  "Let  us 
go  with  him,  every  one  of  us.  We  shall  go  to  death 
together." 

And  others  sprang  forward  too,  clamoring,  be- 
seeching. -Take  us  all!"  they  cried.  "Take  us 
together!" 

Mehemet  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  turned  away. 
The  captives  flung  themselves  before  the  soldiers, 
who  hesitated. 

It  was  then  that  the  old  bishop,  who  had  never 
ceased  to  mumble,  I  think,  came  quietly  up  to  us. 

"It  is  all  right.  Let  him  go,"  he  said  gently.  "He 
will  come  to  no  harm." 


A   tall   man   with   a  black  beard   and   a   curvj 
I  recognized  in  him  Mehem, 


sword   sheath   that   clanked   on   the   stones, 
the  Turkish  commander 


The  Sweep  of  the  Net  245 


'It  is  my  orders,"  said  Mehemet,  looking  with 
respect  at  Bishop  Alfred.  "I  have  come  for  him 
alone." 

Half  quieted  by  the  bishop's  intervention,  my 
fellow-prisoners  ceased  to  offer  forcible  resistance. 
But  they  wept  and  prayed,  and  David  grasped  me 
by  the  hand. 

''We  shall  be  together  in  spirit,  Arnold!"  he 
cried.  "God  be  with  you.  God  be  with  you."  He 
flung  his  arms  about  me,  and  the  guards,  touched 
by  the  scene,  permitted  him  to  accompany  me  as  far 
as  the  door.  They  picked  their  way  carefully  by 
the  light  of  their  torches,  to  avoid  treading  on  the 
dogs,  which  crept  to  their  feet  or  strained,  yelping, 
upon  their  chains.  At  the  door  I  found  Elizabeth. 
"We  shall  be  with  you  in  your  hour,  Arnold !"  she 
said,  embracing  me  and  fighting  back  her  sobs  val- 
iantly.   "We  shall  all  think  of  you  tomorrow." 

The  crowd  dispersed.  The  last  thing  that  I  saw 
was  the  white,  terrified,  maternal  face  of  the  little 
woman,  as  she  clutched  her  children  to  her  breast, 
and,  over  her,  the  bishop's  pastoral  staff,  held  up  as 
if  to  shield  her. 

The  door  was  closed  behind  me,  and  the  soldiers 
shot  the  bolts  home.  In  front  of  me  was  a  flight  of 
winding  concrete  stairs,  dividing  at  a  central  space 
into  two  portions  that  ran  right  and  left  respectively. 
We  took  the  left.    I  expected  to  emerge  into  the  Vivi- 


246         TJw  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

section  Bureau,  to  see  the  eager  students  of  the  medi- 
cal school,  and  Sanson,  the  presiding  devil,  there. 
But  instead  I  saw  a  gate  above  me;  a  guard  un- 
locked it.  Then  I  found  myself  standing  alone 
beside  Mehemet,  in  the  interior  court  between  the 
Temple  and  the  Airscouts'  Fortress,  between  the  Sci- 
ence Wing  and  the  Council  Building. 

High  above  me  the  bridges  crossed,  spanning  the 
gulf  in  whose  recess  we  stood.  I  saw  once  more  the 
palms  against  the  upreared  crystal  walls. 

As  I  watched  I  saw  the  battleplanes  take  their 
flight  once  more,  one  by  one,  from  the  roof  of  the 
Airscouts'  Fortress,  rising  into  the  dark  night  like 
luminous  balloons.  In  the  distance  London  glowed 
like  day. 

Behind  us,  in  the  outer  courts,  a  multitude  was 
shrieking  curses  upon  the  Christians;  and,  for  the 
first  time,  I  heard  threats  against  Lembken,  and 
realized  that  Sanson's  plans  were  made  for  that  coup 
which  I  was  never  to  see. 

**We  are  going  to  Sanson?"  I  asked  Mehemet, 
nerving  myself  for  his  affirmative  reply. 

He  spat.  "The  jackal !"  he  said.  "Sooner  would 
I  become  a  Christian  than  serve  such  spawn.  We 
are  going  to  the  People's  House." 

Evidently  Sanson  did  not  know  that  the  main 
prop  of  his  new  house  had  fallen. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

AMARANTH 

T  STEPPED  out  of  the  elevator  into  a  part  of  the 
Palace  that  I  had  not  seen  before.  The  room  into 
which  the  waiting  negro  ushered  me  was  completely 
dark,  though  a  thin  line  of  light  at  the  further  end 
showed  me  that  there  was  a  lighted  room  beyond. 

I  strained  my  eyes,  striving  to  penetrate  the  gloom. 
I  took  a  few  steps  forward,  stretching  out  my  hands 
to  feel  if  any  obstacle  were  in  the  way.  Looking 
back,  I  could  not  even  discern  the  heavy  curtain  that 
had  dropped  soundlessly  behind  me. 

I  knew  that  there  was  someone  in  the  room,  and 
that  it  was  not  Lembken.  I  waited;  I  heard  the 
rustle  of  a  woman's  garment.  Then  swiftly  the 
room  was  flooded  with  the  soft  solar  light. 

It  was  bare,  except  for  the  rugs  and  a  low  divan 
pushed  against  one  wall,  with  a  little  table  beside  it. 
Everything  was  of  the  color  of  gold:  the  walls,  the 
ceiling,  the  rugs  upon  the  floor.  And  before  me, 
clothed  from  head  to  foot  in  a  sheer,  trailing  garment 
of  dull  gold,  stood  the  girl  Amaranth. 

Her  dark  hair  was  bound  back  in  a  loose  Grecian 
knot,  her  sandaled  feet  gleamed  white  on  the  gold 
fabric  under  them ;  she  stretched  out  her  white  arms 

247 


248  TJie  Messiah  of  flic  Cylinder 

to  me  and,  taking  me  by  the  hand,  led  me  to  the  divan 
and  placed  me  at  her  side. 

"Poor  Arnold!"  she  began  in  a  caressing  tone, 
'you  have  suffered  so  much  in  your  ignorance  and 
your  desire  to  help  your  friends.  But  all  your  trou- 
bles are  ended  now,  and  your  friends  shall  not  be 
harmed.     Do  you  think  you  can  love  me,  Arnold?" 

She  looked  at  me  with  neither  boldness  nor  hesita- 
tion, and  then,  folding  her  arms,  drummed  her  san- 
dal heels  against  the  foot  of  the  divan. 

"Are  you  not  lucky,  Arnold,  to  have  won  my 
love !"  she  continued.  "I  gave  my  love  to  you  from 
the  moment  when  I  first  saw  you  enter  the  room  in 
which  I  sat  with  Lembken,  looking  so  stern,  so  reso- 
lute, like  one  of  those  adventurous  heroes  of  the 
twentieth  century  of  whom  we  read  in  our  romances. 
That  is  why  I  made  Lembken  tell  Mehemet  to  bring 
you  here.  He  was  so  hurt  by  your  departure  that  I 
think  he  would  have  let  his  plans  go  to  ruin  rather 
than  himself  plead  with  you.  He  is  very  sensitive 
and  kind. 

"You  are  not  afraid  to  love  me,  Arnold?"  she 
continued,  looking  at  me  with  curious  scrutiny. 
"You  need  not  be  afraid.  Lembken  has  grown  tired 
of  me,  so  I  must  find  another.  He  has  taken  a  fancy 
to  Coral,  my  blue,  an  absurd  little  yellow-haired 
thing.     You  shall  see  her." 

She  clapped  her  hands  twice,  and  a  door  opened, 


Amaranth  249 


apparently  a  part  of  the  wall.  A  fair-haired  girl, 
dressed  in  a  loose  blue  tunic  and  Zouave  trousers, 
entered,  carrying  a  tray  on  which  were  two  golden 
winecups. 

Amaranth  took  the  nearest  cup  in  her  hands, 
touched  the  rim  with  her  lips,  and  held  it  out  to  me. 

''Drink  with  me,  Arnold,"  she  said. 

But  I  would  not  drink,  lest  the  corruption  of  the 
wane  should  dull  me  and  disarm  my  strength  in  the 
spell  of  that  enervating  hell.  I  handed  back  the  cup 
to  her. 

Amaranth  looked  at  me  for  an  instant  with  quiv- 
ering lips.  Then  she  burst  into  tears  and  hurled  the 
cup  at  the  maid.  She  flung  the  other  also.  The  first 
missed  its  mark  and  fell  against  the  base  of  the  wall, 
wiiere  it  shed  its  ruby  contents  in  a  widening  stain. 
The  second  cup  struck  the  maid's  cheek  and  cut  it, 
and  the  wine  drenched  the  blue  tunic. 

The  maid  smiled,  biting  her  lips,  stooped  down, 
picked  up  both  cups,  and,  placing  them  on  the  tray, 
departed  silently.  Amaranth  sobbed  as  if  her  heart 
was  broken.  Then  suddenly  she  turned  and  flung 
her  arms  about  me. 

''Arnold,  I  love  you!"  she  cried.  "You  saw  her? 
She  is  Lembken's  favorite  now,  that  yellow-haired 
fool  with  the  blue  eyes  like  saucers.  Lembken  means 
us  for  each  other.     Can  you  not  love  me?" 

I  sat  in  silence,  trying  to  pick  my  path  cautiously 


250  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

through  the  mists  of  bewildering  doubt.  iVmaranth 
unclasped  her  arms  from  about  my  neck,  and  her 
face  assumed  a  look  of  mockery. 

*'0h,  I  know!"  she  said,  ''it  is  that  Elizabeth  of 
yours  w^hom  you  think  you  love.  And  you  think  you 
can  only  love  one  at  a  time,  in  your  romantic  twen- 
tieth-century way.  Well,  I  will  match  myself  against 
her.  You  shall  bring  her  here,  Arnold,  and  I  will 
fight  her  for  you,  and  I  will  be  your  blue  and  she 
shall  be  your  white,  and  I  will  serve  you  obediently 
till  I  have  won  your  heart.  Look  on  me,  Arnold! 
See  how  beautiful  I  am!  For  I  was  born  here;  I 
am  Boss  Rose's  daughter,  and  I  have  never  left  the 
People's  House.  Look  at  the  whiteness  of  my  skin ! 
The  sun  has  never  shone  on  it.  Look  at  my  lips, 
Arnold!  Put  your  mouth  to  my  cheek  —  it  is  as 
soft  as  the  bloom  upon  a  nectarine.  Do  you  think, 
then,  I  am  afraid  to  match  myself  against  your 
Elizabeth?" 

She  smiled  contemptuously,  and  tilted  back  her 
head,  and  clasped  her  hands  behind  it,  and  watched 
me  through  her  lashes.  Yet  I  detected  a  resource  of 
feverish  resolve  in  her;  and  I  knew  that  she  and  I, 
Mehemet,  Sanson,  were  that  night  weaving  the 
threads  in  a  fabric  upon  the  loom  of  destiny,  and 
that  each  word  we  spoke  flashed  like  the  thread- 
bearing  shuttle  over  it. 

So,  piecing  my  words  together  with  infinite  care, 


A  mar  ant  h  251 

because  the  lives  of  Esther  and  all  those  who  were 
dear  to  me  hung  on  them,  I  answered  her : 
5  "Forgive  my  sullen  mood.  You  have  promised 
^  that  my  friends  shall  go  free ;  yet  they  expect  to  die 
at  sunrise,  and  it  is  hard  to  be  at  ease.  How  can  I 
save  them?" 

Amaranth  unclasped  her  hands  and  turned  to  me 
with  a  quick  gesture  of  penitence. 

"Ah,  it  was  wrong  of  me  to  speak  of  love  first, 
when  you  have  such  a  burden  of  sorrow,  Arnold!" 
she  answered.  "I  had  forgotten  that  men's  minds 
are  troubled  in  the  world  below.  Here  we  are  free 
and  have  no  cares,  except  how  we  shall  take  our 
pleasures.  And  to  think  that  you  left  us  to  help 
your  friends,  when  Lembken  would  have  done  every- 
thing you  wished ! 

"Now  I  will  set  your  mind  at  rest.  Lembken  has 
already  given  the  command  that  your  friends  shall 
live  until  Sanson  has  spoken  in  the  Temple,  and  when 
he  has  spoken  he  will  no  longer  have  power  —  if  you 
obey  Lembken.  But  he  was  deeply  hurt  by  your 
leaving  him,  for  he  is  very  sensitive  to  unkindness, 
and  so  he  asked  me  to  speak  to  you  on  his  behalf. 
Now,  if  you  act  loyally,  you  may  save  your  friends 
and  the  world.  Tomorrow  there  will  be  an  end  to  all 
of  Sanson's  mad  schemes  of  tyranny.  Mehemet  and 
his  guards  have  abandoned  him.  Lembken  knows 
everything;  he  knows  all  the  desperate  plans  his 


252  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

poor  people  have  made,  and  his  heart  is  wrung  for 
them." 

She  paused,  and  placing  her  hand  on  mine,  looked 
very  earnestly  at  me. 

^'Arnold,  you  know  that  Sanson  has  been  poison- 
ing the  people's  minds  against  Lembken,  in  pur- 
suance of  his  plan  to  depose  him,"  she  continued. 
"So  your  part,  which  will  be  detailed  to  you  later, 
will  be  to  enter  the  Temple  tomorrow  among 
the  priests.  You  will  defend  Lembken  against  San- 
son. You  will  remind  the  people  how  they  elected 
him  from  year  to  year,  because  he  was  their  friend. 
Tell  them  he  has  not  changed.  And  in  return 
liberty  shall  be  established  and  the  hated  Guard 
disbanded.  Lembken  asks  only  for  his  dignity 
and  wealth,  and  his  friends  in  the  People's  House. 
He  is  growing  old,  Arnold,  and  desires  power  no 
more." 

She  watched  me  with  that  centuries-old  look,  and 
in  my  heart  I  knew  I  had  not  fathomed  hers.  This 
was  what  I  had  meant  to  propose.  Yet  —  yet  I 
doubted  her. 

'Tt  is  agreed,  then,"  she  cried  gaily,  "and  now 
you  will  be  one  of  us.  It  is  past  midnight,  Arnold, 
and  in  a  few  short  hours  you  shall  be  hidden  in  the 
priests'  room  to  be  coached  for  your  part.  Till 
then—" 

She  ceased  suddenly,  as  the  sound  of  voices  came 


Amaranth  253 


from  the  room  beyond  the  further  door.  She  sHpped 
from  the  divan. 

''Sanson  has  been  with  Lembken,"  she  whispered. 
*'He  is  coming  this  way.  Arnold,  do  you  want  to  see 
your  enemy  broken  ?  That  will  be  a  glorious  begin- 
ning to  this  first  night  of  ours,  and  afterwards  we 
shall  go  to  the  revels  in  the  garden.  I  shall  be  proud 
of  you,  Arnold,  for  now  the  girls  are  taunting  me 
because  Lembken  is  tired  of  me.  How  I  shall  be 
envied!    But  come  here  quickly!" 

She  took  me  to  the  door  in  the  wall  through  which 
the  girl  Coral  had  come.  At  a  distance  of  a  few 
paces  it  was  invisible.  I  wondered  how  many 
more  such  doors  were  set  in  the  walls  of  Lembken's 
palace. 

"You  shall  listen  here,"  she  said,  ''I  trust  you 
Arnold.  You  will  not  lose  your  self-control  and 
enter,  no  matter  what  you  hear?  Ah,  I  shall  test 
your  love  for  that  Elizabeth !  But  I  trust  you,  and 
the  beginning  of  this  night's  masque  shall  be  the 
humbling  of  your  enemy.  Stay  here  until  I  call 
you!" 

She  thrust  me  behind  the  door  and  withdrew, 
closing  it.  I  heard  the  rustle  of  her  garment  as  she 
crossed  the  room  —  then  nothing. 

I  found  myself  standing  in  a  dim  corridor  that 
ran  as  far  as  I  could  see  in  either  direction.  The 
nameless  horror  of  the  Palace  overcame  me,  and  it 


254  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

was  with  a  strong  effort  that  I  controlled  my  wild 
impulse  of  flight. 

As  I  stood  there  I  heard  the  sound  of  stealthy  foot- 
steps, and,  looking  up,  saw  the  maid  Coral  coming 
softly  toward  me.  She  was  carrying  the  tray,  with 
two  full  winecups,  and  she  stopped  beside  me  and  set 
it  down  on  the  carpet. 

She  stood  looking  at  me.  Her  eyes  were  blazing 
with  anger,  and  her  slim  body  shook  under  the  blue 
tunic.  But  on  her  mouth  was  the  same  set  smile 
that  I  had  seen  when  she  picked  up  the  cups. 

She  said  nothing,  but,  placing  her  hand  against  the 
door,  opened  it  an  inch  or  two  without  the  slightest 
sound.  At  that  moment  I  heard  a  door  opened,  the 
rustle  of  Amaranth's  robe,  and  a  lithe  tread  on  the 
floor. 

Sanson  spoke.  "I  have  said  all  that  there  is  to 
say,"  he  answered.  "Why  do  you  plead  with  me? 
Do  you  think  a  woman  can  plead  with  me  where 
Lembken  failed  ?  He  shall  have  his  honors  and  resi- 
dence here  —  no  more." 

"But  spare  your  prisoners,  Sanson,"  said  Ama- 
ranth softly.  "Spare  Arnold.  For  my  sake,"  she 
said,  pleading. 

Sanson  spoke  curtly.  "All  Christians  and  all 
morons  must  be  tomorrow's  sacrifice  to  the  new  era," 
he  answered. 

"Do  not  go,  Sanson,"  Amaranth  besought  him, 


Amaranth  255 


as  he  moved  away  from  her.  ''Listen  to  me !  You, 
who  are  so  merciless  and  cruel,  why  do  you  not  take 
all?" 

"I  have  all  that  I  need,"  he  said  impatiently. 
"What  more?" 

"Why  have  you  spared  Lembken?  Why  do  you 
not  slay  him  and  rule  with  us  ?  We  hate  him.  He  is 
a  tyrant,  and  you  know  the  fate  of  his  women  when 
they  have  ceased  to  please.  You  who  have  made 
yourself  the  master  of  the  world,  for  whose  sight  we 
throng  the  sides  of  the  crystal  walls  as  you  cross  the 
courts  below  —  why  have  you  refused  the  pleasures 
that  are  for  the  world's  masters?" 

He  stood  still;  I  fancied  that  he  was  looking  at 
her,  trying  to  measure  his  problem  in  the  balances 
once  more.  Coral  cast  a  glance  at  me.  The  smile 
was  still  on  her  face,  but  she  nodded  her  head 
thoughtfully,  as  if  she,  too,  had  her  problem. 

"Listen,  Sanson,"  continued  Amaranth  fiercely, 
"when  Boss  Rose  climbed  to  power  he  built  the 
People's  House  and  made  it  a  pleasure-palace  for  the 
world's  elect.  Then  he  died  under  a  murderer's 
dagger,  and  Lembken,  who  had  long  envied  him, 
came  to  rule  in  his  place.  He,  too,  has  lived  his  time. 
Now  he  is  broken.  You,  the  next  ruler  of  the  world 
—  why  do  you  not  do  as  he  did?  We  are  tired  of 
him.    We  want  another  lord,  Sanson." 

I  knew  that  she  was  clinging  to  him  as  she  had 


256  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

clung  to  me.     I  did  not  look  at  Coral,  but  I  knew 
that  she  was  still  smiling. 

''You  can  set  us  free,  Sanson,"  continued  Ama- 
ranth gently.     "You  can  rid  us  of  our  tyrant." 

The  murmuring  voice  went  on  and  on,  and  Sanson 
made  no  answer. 

"You  have  not  entered  the  People's  House  for 
seven  years  until  tonight.  Do  you  think  we  have 
forgotten  that  you  exist?  Do  you  think  we  have 
not  wondered  why  the  master  of  the  world  has  left 
us  to  the  whims  of  that  fat  old  man?  Sit  by  me, 
Sanson.  Do  you  not  see  how  you  have  toiled  while 
Lembken  has  taken  his  ease?  You  have  waited  so 
long  for  one  woman.  Oh,  yes,  I  know ;  all  a  great 
man's  secrets  are  known  everywhere,  though  he 
thinks  them  in  sanctuary,  securely  guarded.  You 
can  take  her  —  but  take  us  too.  Live  your  life, 
Sanson!  Save  us  and  reign  over  us!  Take  me, 
Sanson  —  " 

I  heard  the  man  breathe  as  if  in  a  trance.  That 
strange  pity  which  he  inspired  in  me  awoke  again. 
All  the  long  tragedy  of  his  life,  the  vigil  of  five  and 
thirty  years,  the  love  that  must  prove  vain  —  I  real- 
ized it  all.  For  this  vain  love  he  had  ensnared  the 
world,  and  now  the  world  leaped  at  him  to  ensnare 
him.  Devil  as  he  was,  in  will  his  life  had  been,  in 
one  respect,  a  hero's. 

"Drink  with  me,  Sanson,"  I  heard  Amaranth  mur- 


Amaranth  257 


mur.    "You  do  not  know  the  taste  of  wine.    A  pledge 
to  our  love.    A  pledge  to  our  lives !" 

She  was  conquering.  The  tyrant  of  the  world  was 
almost  prostrate  at  the  feet  of  this  girl  of  twenty 
years.  Attila's  fate  was  to  be  his.  I  heard  him 
groan  in  bitterness  of  conflict. 

Amaranth  clapped  twice.  Instantly  the  girl  Coral 
stooped  down,  pushing  me  fiercely  from  the  door, 
and,  taking  up  the  tray,  went  in.  Amaranth  took 
the  brimming  winecup  and  touched  it  with  her  lips. 

*'Drink,  Sanson!"  she  murmured. 

I  was  watching  them  now.  I  saw  Sanson  rise  and 
raise  the  cup  in  his  hand.  He  did  not  drink,  neither 
did  he  reject  it,  but  stood  like  one  in  a  daze,  all  move- 
ment inhibited  by  the  fierceness  of  that  inner  strug- 
gle. Amaranth  seized  the  second  cup  from  the  tray, 
leaped  from  the  couch,  and  raised  it  on  high. 

''To  our  love,  Sanson !"  she  cried,  and  drained  it. 

At  that  moment  the  jagged  cut  on  the  girl  Coral's 
face  grew  red  with  blood  again. 

Coral  stood  holding  the  tray,  and  she  looked  at 
Amaranth  and  smiled.    She  stood  like  a  tinted  statue. 

Sanson  was  still  standing  in  front  of  the  divan. 
He  had  not  drunk ;  he  held  the  cup  in  his  hand  and 
was  himself  as  immobile  as  a  statue. 

''Will  you  not  drink  the  pledge  that  I  have  drunk  ?" 
asked  Amaranth,  laying  her  fingers  lightly  on  his 
arm  and  leaning  toward  him. 


258  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

And  I  had  underestimated  Sanson  after  all.  Now, 
at  the  moment  of  surrender,  his  indomitable  will 
flamed  out,  seeming  to  possess  his  body  and  mold 
each  feature,  every  muscle  to  its  unconquerable 
resolve. 

"I  will  not  drink !"  he  cried,  and  flung  the  cup  to 
the  floor. 

He  turned  and  strode  from  the  room  like  the  con- 
queror he  was.  He  passed  the  curtain,  which  fell 
behind  him.  He  had  won  his  hardest  battle,  taken 
unaware,  fighting  against  a  cunning  ambush;  and  I 
knew  now  that  hardly  an  earthly  enemy  could  con- 
quer him. 

I  was  in  the  room  now,  for  there  was  no  need  to 
hide  myself  any  longer.  I  watched  Amaranth,  who, 
as  statuesque  as  Sanson  had  been,  stood  looking  after 
him.    A  minute  passed. 

Suddenly  she  wheeled  about  and  clapped  her  hands 
to  her  side.  She  staggered;  a  spasm  of  pain  crossed 
her  face,  and  she  looked  searchingly  at  Coral.  The 
maid  in  the  blue  tunic  looked  back  at  her,  smiling. 

Their  eyes  did  not  waver  until  Amaranth  swayed 
backward  and  fell  on  the  divan.  A  scream  broke 
from  her  lips,  and  then  another;  a  third;  she  wrung 
her  hands  and  moaned. 

I  kneeled  before  her.  "What  is  it.  Amaranth?" 
I  cried. 

She  raised  herself  and  looked  wildly  at  me.    Her 


Sanson's  indomitable  will  flamed   out.     "I   will  not  drink !"   he 
cried,  and  flung  the  cup  to  the  floor 


Amaranth  259 


face  was  ashen  pale,  the  features  pinched ;  dark  rings 
had  crept  beneath  her  eyes. 

"She  gave  me  the  —  wrong  cup/*  she  whispered. 

I  tried  to  go  for  aid,  but  Amaranth  clung  to  me. 
"There  is  no  hope,"  she  sobbed.  "I  must  die.  Stay 
with  me,  Arnold!" 

Her  head  fell  back  and  she  breathed  heavily.  I 
turned  and  saw  Coral  beside  me,  a  smiling,  waxen 
doll,  the  new  queen  of  the  harem  by  the  dying  one. 

"Go !"  I  thundered  at  her. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  daintily  and  went, 
leaving  the  winecups  on  the  floor. 

Amaranth's  hand  trembled  upon  my  sleeve.  I 
bent  over  her.     Her  eyes  fixed  themselves  on  mine. 

"Put  your  hand  under  me,"  she  muttered;  "raise 
me.  All  is  lost  now.  Sanson  has  beaten  Lembken, 
and  everything  is  ended.    Save  your  Elizabeth  if  you 


can." 


She  drew  my  face  toward  hers  and  spoke  in  pant- 
ing accents : 

"It  was  Lembken's  plot.  He  learned  that  Sanson 
held  you  in  the  vaults.  His  case  was  desperate.  He 
asked  Mehemet's  aid.  Mehemet  said  he  —  his  men 
would  not  desert  Sanson  while  he  lived,  but  if  he 
died  they  would  follow  him  for  Lembken.  I  was 
to  poison  Sanson  and  thus  win  over  the  Guard.  I  was 
to  drug  you  only,  and  keep  you  out  of  the  way. 
Lembken  liked  you;  he  would  not  let  you  be  killed. 


260  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

He   has   been   communicating  with   the   American 
bosses.     The  plan  —  the  plan — " 

She  gathered  her  strength  with  a  last  effort  of  will. 
*The  plan  was  of  long  standing.  Events  hastened 
it.  Mehemet  knew  it.  Britain  was  to  have  a  God 
again,  Mehemet's  God,  and  the  American  Mormons 
were  to  unite  with  us,  for  their  faith  is  nearly  the 
same.  The  people  would  have  a  god,  and  this  would 
unite  all  nations  against  the  Christian  Russians. 
They  are  in  Stockholm.  The  American  battleplanes 
are  on  their  way  to  help  us  against  them.  When 
Sanson  was  dead  the  guards  were  to  join  the  air- 
scouts.  Now  you  must  go.  Save  your  Elizabeth. 
Kill  Sanson.     I  can  say  no  more.     Escape — " 

She  muttered  something  that  I  could  not  hear,  and 
then  her  eyes,  which  had  closed,  reopened  and  wav- 
ered on  mine  again. 

"I  loved  you,  Arnold,"  she  said  in  a  weak,  clear 
voice.  'T'm  glad  I  died  before  I  lost  you.  I  used 
to  wish  I  had  been  born  in  other  days  ....  the 
twentieth-century  days,  when  ....  women  were 
different  ....  all  different  ....  men  mated  one 
only  ....  give  the  people  those  days  again  if  you 
beat  Sanson,  Arnold." 

She  tried  to  stretch  out  her  hands  to  me.  Her 
eyelids  quivered,  and  she  sighed  very  deeply. 

I  saw  a  crimson  stain  upon  my  hands.  It  was  the 
wine  from  Sanson's  winecup. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

ESTHER 

T  LEFT  the  dead  girl  on  the  divan  and  went  into 
■^  the  hall.  My  head  ached,  and  I  was  still  dizzy 
from  my  wound,  but  I  had  grown  suddenly  com- 
posed, and  all  my  perplexities  had  vanished  in  the 
face  of  Esther's  imminent  need  of  me. 

There  was  nobody  in  the  hall.  The  negroes  were 
gone,  and  the  palm  gardens  were  dark  and  seemed 
deserted.  Silence  had  descended  everywhere. 
Withal  it  was  the  silence  of  hushed  voices,  I  knew, 
and  not  of  emptiness.  Within  those  walls,  in  hidden 
rooms,  lurked  those  who  waited  yet  for  the  death 
agony  of  the  man  who  had  already  escaped  the 
baited  trap. 

I  wondered  whether  Sanson  had  bought  the  at- 
tendants, if  he  had  come  alone,  whether  the  fear  of 
him  forbade  an  ambush  in  case  Amaranth's  plot 
should  fail.  He  had  evidently  gone  down  in  the 
elevator,  for  it  was  not  in  the  cage,  but  it  came  up 
to  me  when  I  pressed  the  button,  and  I  descended, 
stopping  at  the  first  door  I  saw,  which  must,  I  knew, 
give  access  to  the  Temple. 

The  corridor  into  which  I  stepped  was  as  empty  as 
the  palace  hall  above.     The  airscouts  who  should 

261 


262  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 


have  been  on  duty  here  were  gone.  I  did  not  realize 
that  I  had  formed  no  plans  and  felt  no  fear  until  I 
found  my  way  unopposed.  Before  me  was  a  door, 
leading  into  one  of  the  numerous  small  rooms 
through  which  one  entered  the  Temple,  and  at  my 
side  was  a  little  window,  through  which  the  cries 
of  the  mob  beneath  were  borne  to  me  fitfully  on  the 
gusty  air. 

I  stopped  and  looked  out.  The  sky  was  thick  with 
battleplanes.  No  longer  at  their  stations  about  the 
city,  they  cruised  hither  and  thither,  approaching 
one  another  and  retiring  in  a  manner  seemingly  con- 
fused and  aimless.  Sometimes  a  group  would  gather 
as  if  conferring,  forming  a  polygon  of  light  with 
changing  sides  as  they  maneuvered;  and  presently 
a  single  impulse  seemed  to  animate  them  all,  for,  like 
a  flock  of  wheeling  birds,  they  swung  around  and] 
sailed  off  together,  till  they  were  only  pin-points'^ 
of  light  in  the  southwest. 

Beneath  me  the  courts  were  packed  with  a  vast' 
multitude  that  had  assembled  for  the  morrow's  cere-1 
monies.  Looking  down  on  them,  I  saw  that  they' 
were  held  back  by  two  lines  of  the  guards,  armed; 
with  Ray  rods,  drawn  up  before  the  Temple. 

They  jostled  and  swayed  and  howled  fearlessly, ^ 
as  if  they  knew  the  imminence  of  change;  yet  their, 
cries  were  not  all  against  the  Christians  and  the, 
morons,    nor   yet    against    Lembken,    nor    all    forj 


Esther  263 

Sanson.  I  tried  to  fancy  that  among  them  were 
groups  of  our  few  thousand,  gathered  out  of  the 
forests  to  play  their  role  at  dawn. 

Yet  for  the  moment  Sanson  had  triumphed.  I 
thought  upon  how  little  hung  the  fate  of  the  world. 
A  palace  women's  intrigue,  the  jealousy  of  a  girl, 
a  cup  of  wine,  and  Lembken's  schemes  were 
broken. 

Then  it  came  to  me  that  the  conical,  glow-painted 
Ray  guns  on  the  encircling  wall  were  trained  no 
longer  outward  but  inward,  dominating  the  Temple 
courts  and  all  the  multitude  within  them.  And  in  a 
flash  of  comprehension  I  saw  the  scheme  of  Sanson. 
If  the  people  rejected  him  on  the  morrow  he  meant 
to  kill  all  those  within  the  walls,  all  human  beings 
inside  the  circle  of  the  fortress,  confident  that  thereby 
he  would  destroy  all  his  enemies.  He  meant  to  level 
the  Temple  and  the  palace  above,  the  Council  Hall, 
the  Airscouts'  Fortress,  involving  everything  in  one 
colossal  ruin  which  he  would  bestride  —  the  unchal- 
lenged master  of  the  Federation. 

This  done,  the  Russian  fleet  would  be  attacked  and 
destroyed,  and  with  it  the  last  obstacle  to  world 
dominion. 

I  saw  this  with  one  flash  of  intuition.  Perhaps  I 
lingered  in  all  for  forty  seconds  beside  the  window. 
It  was  hardly  longer,  for  the  thought  of  Esther  drove 
me  through  the  doorway  in  front  of  me.     I  found 


264  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

myself  within  the  dark,  enormous  area  of  the 
Temple. 

I  was  in  a  circular  gallery  surrounded  by  a  brass 
railing,  which  ran  high  up  around  the  interior.  The 
only  light  was  the  faint  reflection  from  a  single 
solar  bulb  that  shone  across  the  gulf.  Beneath  it  I 
could  discern  the  shining,  golden  surface  of  the 
Ant. 

I  felt  my  way  around  the  gallery,  w^orking  toward 
the  light,  which  seemed  to  descend  as  I  approached  it, 
until,  standing  immediately  above  it,  I  looked  down 
and  saw  it  shining  an  unknown  distance  beneath.  It 
showed  now  the  uplifted  antenna  of  the  idol,  the 
edge  of  the  stone  altar  in  the  center  of  the  bridge 
that  spanned  the  Temple,  and  the  round  body  of  the 
cylinder,  which  seemed  to  hang  in  space  above  it. 

I  had  entered  the  Temple  upon  a  floor  one  stage 
too  high,  and  there  was  no  way  down  from  the  gal- 
lery; it  would  be  necessary  to  go  back  to  the  elevator 
and  descend  to  a  lower  level,  that  of  the  bridges  that 
spanned  the  interior  court. 

But  that  was  too  dangerous,  and  I  could  wait  no 
longer.  I  estimated  that  the  light  was  five  and 
twenty  feet  below.  I  swung  from  the  brass  rail  and 
dropped  into  space.  It  was  a  mad  plunge  in  the  dark 
toward  that  slender  bridge  a  hundred  feet  above  the 
Temple  floor.  But  fortune  was  with  me,  for  I  struck 
the  golden  grille  around  the  altar-stone  and  tumbled 


Esther  265 

inside,  rising  upon  my  feet  with  only  a  bruise  or  two. 

The  grille  was  about  four  feet  high,  and  the  ends 
formed  gates  which,  when  opened,  made  the  altar- 
stone  one  with  the  two  bridge  spans  that  extended 
to  meet  it  from  either  side  of  the  building.  It  formed 
thus  a  sort  of  keystone  in  aspect,  though  not  archi- 
tecturally, since  it  did  not  support  the  spans,  which 
seemed  to  be  on  the  principle  of  the  cantilever.  I 
saw  now  that  the  stone  was  suspended  by  steel  chains 
from  the  roof,  and  over  it,  hung  by  two  finer  ones, 
was  the  cylinder. 

Presently  I  could  grasp  the  meaning  of  the  mech- 
anism. Cylinder  and  stone  altar  were  in  counter- 
poise, so  that,  when  the  first  was  drawn  up,  the  sec- 
ond would  descend  from  between  the  spans  to  the 
level  of  the  Ant's  pedestal,  forming,  as  it  were,  a 
sacrificial  stone  immediately  before  the  idol,  disrupt- 
ing the  continuity  of  the  bridges  also,  and  leaving  a 
gap  between  them. 

But  I  spared  no  thoughts  on  this.  I  looked  through 
the  cylinder's  face  of  glass,  and,  though  I  saw  but  the 
dimmest  outlines  there,  I  knew  that  I  had  found 
Esther  again,  and  that  there  were  to  be  no  more  part- 
ings, so  long  as  we  both  lived. 

I  do  not  know  what  follies  I  committed  there,  for 
I  forgot  everything  but  her.  Forgotten  was  the 
imminent  danger,  remembered  only  our  reunion.  I 
flung  my  arms  about  the  iron  case  and  called  to  her, 


266  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

telling  her  of  my  love,  as  if  she  heard  me.  I  came 
back  to  sanity  at  length  to  find  myself  kneeling  before 
the  case  upon  the  stone,  with  the  tears  raining  down 
my  cheeks. 

It  was  a  mad  wooing  of  a  sleeping  woman  upon 
that  giant  slab,  swung  by  its  chains  from  the  vault 
above,  and  vibrant  under  me.  Each  movement  set 
the  heavy  mass  to  trembling  as  the  chains  quivered, 
and  the  cylinder,  too,  danced  before  me,  like  some 
steel  marionette. 

I  stretched  my  hands  up,  feeling  for  the  cylinder 
cap.  It  was  still  on  the  neck,  but  it  had  almost 
reached  the  end  of  the  thread  and  moved  under  my 
fingers.  I  could  not  see  the  figures  upon  the  dial, 
but  I  knew  that  Esther's  awakening  was  not  many 
hours  away. 

I  twisted  the  cap  between  my  fingers.  I  could 
dislodge  it.  If  I  did  so  ...  .  Lazaroff  had  told 
me  that  would  bring  death,  but  surely  not  when 
there  remained  only  a  few  short  hours  before  the 
awakening.  Air  must  have  been  entering  in 
measurable  quantities  during  some  days.  And, 
even  if  Esther  died  —  better  that  than  to  awaken  in 
Sanson's  arms ! 

It  was  a  terrific  choice.  I  hesitated  only  a  few 
moments,  but  they  were  a  century  of  agony  to  me. 
Then  I  set  my  fingers  to  the  cap,  wrenched  it  free, 
and  flung  it  from  me.     It  tinkled  upon  the  stones 


Esther  267 

beneath.    And,  hardly  venturing  to  breathe,  I  clung 
to  the  cylinder  and  waited. 

No  sound  came  from  within.    I  clung  and  tried  to 
place  my  ear  against  the  opening. 

At  last,  in  maddened  resolution,  I  swung  the  cyl- 
inder toward  me  by  the  chains,  tilting  it  downward 
until  I  got  purchase  upon  it.  I  bore  with  my  full 
weight  upon  the  metal  edge.  I  plunged  my  arms 
within.  I  felt  the  heavy  coils  of  Esther's  hair,  her 
eyelids,  cheek,  and  chin ;  I  placed  my  hands  beneath 
her  arms  and  drew  her  forth.  How  I  contrived  it  I 
do  not  know,  for  platform  and  cylinder  rocked  fear- 
fully as  they  swung;  but  in  a  moment,  it  seemed,  I 
held  her  light  and  wasted  body  against  my  own.  And 
we  were  on  the  rocking  altar-stone  together,  while 
the  cylinder  swung  rhythmically  above,  passing  our 
heads  in  steady,  sweeping  flights  as  I  crouched  with* 
Esther  in  my  arms  behind  the  golden  grille. 

I  pressed  my  lips  to  hers,  I  chafed  her  hands  and 
pleaded  with  her  to  awake.  And  presently,  as  if  in 
answer  to  my  prayer,  I  heard  a  sigh  so  faint  that  I 
could  scarcely  dare  believe  I  heard  it. 

A  deeper  sigh,  a  sobbing  breath  —  she  lived;  and 
with  amazed,  awed  happiness  I  felt  her  thin  arms 
grope  instinctively  toward  my  neck.     She  knew ! 

I  kneeled  beside  her  on  the  altar-stone,  listening 
with  choked  sobs  and  wildly  beating  heart  to  the 
words  that  came  from  her  lips  in  faltering  whispers : 


268  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

"Herman!  What  have  you  done?  You  have 
killed  him !  Then  kill  me,  too !  I  don't  v^ant  to  live ! 
Murderer !  Kill  me !  O  Arnold,  my  love,  to  think 
that  neither  of  us  knew!" 

Then: 

"Yes,  I  love  him,  Herman,  and  I  have  told  him 
so.  You  were  too  late  to  prevent  that.  I  saw  your 
heart  tonight.  Kill  me,  I  say!  Yes,  I  am  ready  a 
thousand  times  to  go  where  Arnold  has  gone.  Be 
sure  that  I  shall  follow  him,  through  any  hell  of  your 
devising !" 

So  Esther  whispered,  living  over  again  those  min- 
utes of  dreadful  anguish  that  she  must  have  passed 
in  the  cellar  after  Lazaroff  had  put  the  cap  on  my 
cylinder  and  driven  me  on  that  strange  voyage  of 
mine.  The  little  solar  light  shone  on  Esther's  brown 
gown,  turning  it  golden.  And  I  remembered  —  with 
how  strange  a  pang  —  the  night  when  she  had  worn 
that  gown  in  the  drawing-room  of  Sir  Spofforth's 
house. 

"Esther,"  I  whispered,  bending  over  her,  "it  is  I. 
It  is  Arnold." 

I  saw  her  eyelids  quiver  half  open,  but  I  knew 
that  she  could  not  see  me.  She  moaned.  I  inter- 
posed my  body  between  her  and  the  light. 

"You  have  been  ill,  dearest  Esther,"  I  said.  "But 
now  everything  is  well.    You  know  me,  Esther?" 

"Arnold,"  she  whispered,  "I  have  been  with  you 


Esther  269 

all  the  time.  I  dreamed  ....  Herman  had  sent 
you  ....  a  hundred  years  away." 

She  became  unconscious  the  next  moment.  I  knew 
the  mighty  grip  of  that  first  sleep.  It  was  in  truth 
twin  brother  to  death,  for,  with  my  head  against  her 
breast,  I  could  discern  hardly  the  slightest  stirring. 
But  she  lived;  all  was  well.  And  now  the  need  of 
saving  her  came  over  me.  I  caught  her  into  my 
arms  —  she  weighed  no  more  than  a  small  child  — 
and  hurried  across  the  bridge.  I  believed  that  the 
outer  door  upon  this  lower  level  communicated  with 
the  bridge  over  the  interior  court  that  led  to  the  Air- 
scouts'  Fortress. 

I  traversed  the  little  room  and  pushed  the  swing 
door  open.  Before  me  was  an  elevator  shaft,  evi- 
dently that  up  which  I  had  made  my  first  journey  to 
Lembken's  palace.  But  as  I  emerged  into  the  corri- 
dor I  saw,  not  ten  paces  away,  their  backs  toward 
me,  two  of  the  Guard. 

I  was  too  late.  The  Guard  had  occupied  the  posts 
vacated  by  the  airscouts.  The  Temple  and  all  the 
approaches  to  Lembken's  palace  were  in  Sanson's 
hands. 

They  had  not  seen  or  heard  me,  and  in  a  moment 
I  had  withdrawn  within  the  little  room.  There  still 
remained  one  chance.  By  crossing  the  bridge  again 
and  passing  through  the  priests'  robing-room  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Temple,  I  could  reach  all  parts  of 


270         The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

the  buildings.  Perhaps  there  were  no  sentries  in  the 
gallery  above  the  auditorium.  I  knew  how  vain  the 
hope  was,  but  there  was  none  other. 

I  carried  Esther  upon  the  bridge  again.  'Ks  I  was 
about  to  set  foot  upon  the  altar-stone,  which  still 
rocked  slightly,  I  fancied  that  the  bridges  themselves 
were  moving.  I  leaped  on  the  stone,  stumbling 
against  the  grille.  One  moment  I  hesitated,  to  assure 
myself  that  Esther  still  breathed.  A  piece  of  her 
brown  dress  had  come  away  and  broke  like  burned 
paper  in  my  hand.  I  raised  her  higher  in  my  arms, 
so  that  her  head  rested  against  my  shoulder,  and 
opened  the  grille  gate  to  step  upon  the  farther  span. 

That  moment  of  delay  had  ended  all  my  hopes. 
There  was  no  second  span.  For  swiftly,  noiselessly, 
the  span  was  swinging  away  from  me,  pivoting  upon 
its  further  end.  It  was  already  too  far  away  for  me 
to  make  the  leap,  encumbered  as  I  was  with  Esther. 
I  glanced  backward  in  horror.  The  span  that  I  had 
crossed  was  moving  also,  acting  in  unison.  They 
vanished  in  the  gloom  at  the  sides  of  the  Temple. 

I  stood  with  Esther  in  my  arms  upon  the  altar- 
slab,  poised  on  that  unsteady  resting  place  high  in 
the  Temple  void.  There  was  no  refuge  anywhere. 
Over  me  was  the  vault ;  far  underneath  the  Ant  with 
its  gleaming,  upraised  tentacle. 

As  I  stood  there  the  little  solar  light  went  out. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE    HEART   OF    THE    PEOPLE 

^  I^HE  Temple  was  profoundly  dark.  Crouched  on 
the  swinging  stone,  helpless  in  Sanson's  power, 
I  was  not  conscious  of  fear.  Rather,  a  melancholy- 
regret  possessed  me  that  this  was  the  end,  as  it  inev- 
itably must  be.  A  hundred  years  of  separation,  the 
knowledge  of  each  other's  love  —  no  more;  and  all 
had  gone  for  nothing.  Yet,  there  was  cause  for 
happiness  that  this  much  had  been  granted  me,  to 
die  with  Esther;  and  the  loss  of  all  hope  brought 
calmness  to  my  spirit  and  acceptance  of  the 
inevitable. 

It  may  have  been  two  hours  later  when  I  heard  the 
cries  of  the  mob  once  more.  I  heard  the  tramp  of 
feet  upon  stone;  and  then,  through  every  swinging 
door  below,  invisible  forms  came  trooping  in  until 
they  covered  the  whole  of  the  vast  floor.  They 
shouted  against  the  Christians  in  an  unceasing  pan- 
demonium, and  the  walls  and  hollow  roof  re-echoed 
that  infernal  din  until  another  spirit  that  underlay 
the  mob  fury,  something  of  awed  expectancy,  swept 
over  the  concourse,  and  the  last  shout  died  down, 
and  a  new  and  dreadful  silence  arose. 

It  lasted  minutes,  perhaps,  broken  only  by  the  stir 

271 


272  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

of  feet  on  the  floor,  the  rustle  of  robes,  the  sighs  that 
whispered  through  the  darkness;  then,  out  of  that 
silence  a  low  chant  began.  It  was  that  dreadful 
chant  that  I  had  heard  before,  crooned  first  by  a  few 
and  then  by  many,  tossed  back  and  forth  from 
side  to  side  of  the  Temple  floor,  until  all  caught  it  up 
and  made  the  walls  echo  with  it : 

'*We  are  immortal  in  the  germ-plasm;  make  us 
immortal  in  the  body  before  we  die." 

There  was  a  dreadful  melody,  one  of  those  tunes 
that  seem  to  rise  spontaneously  to  a  people's  lips  as 
the  outpouring  of  its  aspirations.  Again  and  again 
that  dreadful,  hopeless  chant  rose  from  below, 
swelled  into  a  din,  and  died. 

Then  shouts  broke  out  again  as  the  mob  spirit 
seized  upon  some  who  had  assembled  there: 

''Make  us  immortal  in  these  bodies  of  ours !" 

*'Make  us  immortal,  Sanson!" 

"Give  me  eternal  life !"  raved  the  cracked  voice  of 
an  aged  man;  and  that  blasphemy  against  Nature 
seemed  to  shock  the  mab  into  silence,  until  once  more 
the  low  chant  swelled  and  echoed  and  died  away  in 
wailing  overtones  of  helplessness. 

Suddenly  a  single  solar  light  flashed  at  one  side  of 
the  Temple,  and,  high  above  the  multitude,  where  the 
end  of  the  bridge  span  rested  against  the  curve  of 
the  wall,  I  perceived  Sanson.  He  was  standing  alone 
upon  the   drawn-back  span,   which,   shadowy  and 


The  Heart  of  the  People  273 


vague,  gave  him  the  aspect  of  a  figure  poised  in  the 
air. 

He  was  a  master  of  stage-craft.  It  even  awed  me, 
that  calculated  effect  of  the  dark  Temple  and  the 
crowd,  invisible  each  to  his  neighbor ;  and  the  hyp- 
notic mise  en  scene  of  the  solitary  figure  aloft  beneath 
the  single  light.  I,  too,  felt  the  contagion  of  the 
universal  expectation. 

Sanson  uttered  no  word,  but  stretched  one  arm  out 
and  pointed  across  the  Temple.  Then  I  heard  the 
tramp  of  men  coming  from  the  direction  of  the  ele- 
vator shafts;  and  suddenly  a  second  light  burned 
across  the  vast  void  of  the  dark. 

Upon  the  second  span,  now  dimly  visible,  drawn 
back  against  the  wall  opposite  Sanson,  I  saw  the  pris- 
oners from  the  vaults,  marshaled  under  the  charge  of 
the  Guard.  There,  at  the  extreme  edge,  Elizabeth 
stood,  a  slender,  virginal  figure,  her  hands  clasped 
over  her  bosom ;  at  her  side  David,  behind  them  the 
patriarchal  figure  of  Bishop  Alfred.  Behind  him 
were  ranged  the  other  victims  of  Sanson's  rage. 
They,  too,  under  that  single  light,  seemed  to  be  poised 
in  air. 

At  the  sight  of  them,  hysteria  swept  the  minds  of 
the  mob  into  frenzy. 

"The  Christians!"  they  screamed.  "Kill  them! 
Kill  them !  Out  with  the  dogs  who  hold  their  bodies 
cheap !    To  the  Rest  Cure !    Ah  —  h !" 


274  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

The  groaning  end  was  drawn  out  as  the  vibration 
of  a  G-string.  The  air  was  heavy  and  foul  with  hate ; 
I  feh  it  as  something  ponderable. 

A  woman's  voice  rang  shrill  through  the  Temple, 
and  the  devil  that  goaded  her  had  raised  his  head 
now  after  two  thousand  years  of  stupor.  He  re- 
turned into  a  world  that  had  forgotten  him  since  the 
first  shapings  of  Europe's  peoples  began,  out  of  the 
deepest  place  in  hell. 

"Sacrifice  them !"  she  shrieked.  "A  human  sacri- 
fice upon  the  altar-stone!" 

The  whistling,  strident  voices  of  the  mob  answered 
her :  ''Sacrifice  them !    A  human  sacrifice !" 

Surely  Sanson's  stage-craft  was  working  well. 
He  stood  there,  facing  his  victims  across  the  void. 
He  raised  his  hand,  and  every  voice  was  stilled. 

"I  have  called  you  together,  citizens,  upon  this 
day,"  he  said,  "because,  as  you  once  chose  freedom  in 
place  of  bondage,  so,  now,  the  time  has  come  to 
choose  again.  I  have  given  you  liberty,  I  have  given 
you  peace,  I  have  enlightened  you  and  raised  you  to 
man's  true  dignity.  The  Christians  used  to  say  that 
man  was  half  ape  and  half  that  mythical  vertebrate 
known  as  the  angel.  I  have  driven  the  ape  out  of 
you  and  made  you  all  angel.  That  is  to  say,  all  man, 
standing  on  his  own  feet,  not  leaning  against  imag- 
inary gods  to  prop  him.  It  has  been  a  difficult  battle, 
for  all  the  vested  evils  in  the  world  have  fought 


The  Heart  of  the  People  275 

against  me.  But  I  have  won :  your  God,  your  Christ, 
the  superstitious,  stubborn  heart  of  man  have  yielded. 
Now  the  old  order  is  ripe  to  perish  everlastingly. 
There  remains  one  more  enemy — " 

*'Death!"  screamed  the  shrill  woman's  voice. 
"Make  us  immortal  in  our  beautiful  bodies,  Sanson! 
Give  us  life,  everlasting  life!" 

"The  Ant,"  pursued  the  speaker  patiently. 

It  was  an  unexpected  anticlimax.  The  crowd 
groaned  in  disappointment,  and  the  silence  that  fol- 
lowed was  of  unutterable  grief.  That  Sanson  would 
bestow  his  boon  upon  them,  all  had  believed.  Nor 
had  they  anticipated  Sanson's  declaration.  For  the 
idolatrous  symbol,  which  was  all  they  knew  of  wor- 
ship, had  possessed  itself  of  their  imaginations,  their 
aspirations  had  cleaved  to  it,  and,  as  must  be,  what 
had  begun  as  a  symbol  had  ended  as  a  god. 

Sanson  was  too  shrewd  not  to  see  immediately  that 
he  had  struck  the  wrong  note.  He  swung  himself 
about,  facing  the  captives  on  the  opposite  span,  and 
his  voice  reverberated  through  the  Temple. 

"You  have  demanded  sacrifices,  human  sacrifices," 
he  cried,  "and  you  shall  have  them,  but  not  in  honor 
of  the  Ant.  There  is  no  Ant,  no  God.  But  there  is 
Freedom,  hidden  within  the  cylinder  where  she  has 
lain  since  the  beginnings  of  time,  waiting  for  this 
day  to  dawn,  now  ready  to  emerge  into  a  world  set 
free.    To  her  we  sacrifice  I" 


276  TJic  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

He  stood  there,  a  dramatic  figure,  the  incarnation 
of  rebellious  pride,  Lucifer  defying  God,  or  some  old 
Titan  in  revolt  against  Olympus.  But,  as  he  paused, 
the  cracked  voice  of  the  old  bishop  piped  through 
the  Temple. 

"But  I  can  give  you  eternal  life,  my  people,"  he 
cried  clearly.  *T  have  the  Word  that  alone  can  set 
you  free.  It  is  the  same  that  Bonham  spoke  to  you  in 
Westminster  Hall  while  he  was  burning.  You  heard 
him  and  went  home,  and  some  were  afraid,  some 
wondered,  and  some  forgot;  but  that  Word  never 
dies,  and  it  will  be  told  soon  in  a  million  homes, 
because,  by  God's  mercy,  the  Russians  are  at  hand  to 
set  you  free." 

The  deep-breathed  "Ah !"  that  followed  was  not  of 
hate  but  of  fear.  Something  was  stirring  in  the 
hearts  of  the  multitude,  molding  them  against  knowl- 
edge and  will.  I  felt  it,  too :  a  mighty  spiritual 
power,  a  Light  that  clove  the  darkness.  I  saw  the  old 
bishop  stand  out  at  the  end  of  the  span  and  shake  his 
clenched  hand  at  Sanson,  silent,  opposite. 

"You  cannot  raise  one  finger  save  by  the  will  of 
Him  whom  you  deny,  Sanson !"  he  said.  "You  are 
not  going  to  make  any  sacrifices.  You,  who  have 
raised  your  will  against  heaven,  this  night  your  soul 
will  be  required  of  you!" 

The  sense  of  something  imminent  and  mighty 
shook  my  limbs.     I  stood  up,  clinging  against  the 


The  Heart  of  the  People  277 


grille.  There  was  no  sound  in  all  the  Temple.  Pro- 
tagonists in  the  eternal  drama,  the  bishop  and  San- 
son faced  each  other. 

Suddenly  I  perceived  that  the  solar  light  above 
the  bishop  had  moved.  It  had  moved  outward ;  and 
now  it  was  approaching  me.  And  the  light  above 
Sanson  was  moving,  too.  I  understood  what  was 
happening.  Sanson  had  quietly  given  the  command 
for  the  bridges  to  be  swung  together. 

An  instant  later  the  little  lights  that  crossed  the 
gloom  were  dissipated  as  ten  thousand  more  flashed 
out,  illumining  the  vast  interior  of  the  Temple.  I 
saw  the  packed  multitudes  below,  thousands  on  thou- 
sands, their  faces  upturned,  each  with  the  same  stamp 
of  fear  on  it,  as  if  the  same  workman  had  carved  the 
features.  I  saw  the  groins  and  arches,  the  gallery 
above  me,  filled  with  the  Guard;  Sanson  upon  one 
nearing  bridge,  his  Guard  about  him,  too;  upon  the 
other,  David,  Elizabeth  of  the  slender  figure  and  the 
clasped  hands,  and  Bishop  Alfred  and  the  rest  of  the 
prisoners.    I  waited,  my  arms  about  Esther. 

Once  more  I  heard  a  single  sigh  float  upward. 
Then  the  woman's  voice  that  had  shrieked  before 
cried  piercingly  : 

"The  ]\lessiah  has  come,  who  is  to  make  us  free !" 

I  saw  Sanson  stiffen  and  catch  at  the  rail  of  the 

nearing  bridge.     I  saw  David,  now  only  an  arm's 

length  from  me,  staring  incredulous;  Elizabeth  with 


27B  TJie  Messiah  of  tJic  Cylinder 

wide-open  eyes,  the  bishop's  calm  face,  the  Guard 
like  carven  effigies. 

Then,  as  if  the  power  that  held  the  populace  in 
unison  were  suddenly  dissolved,  they  broke  from 
their  places.  They  sprang  with  frantic,  exultant 
cries  toward  the  Ant;  they  formed  a  dozen  human 
chains  that  reared  themselves  above  the  pedestal,  dis- 
solved, and  poured  over  the  golden  idol.  Among 
them  I  saw  clusters  of  men  —  our  men  —  with  Ray 
rods  in  their  hands.  They  poured  out  into  the  rooms 
that  lined  the  passages.  They  swarmed  up  pillars 
and  reached  out  hands  to  the  captives.  They  howled 
at  Sanson,  whose  bodyguard,  closing  about  him, 
formed  an  impenetrable  defense.  The  conspiracy 
had  not  miscarried. 

But  all  were  shouting  at  me,  and  the  fanatic  spirit 
of  hate  that  Sanson  had  evoked  seemed  to  have 
recoiled  and  turned  on  him  to  his  destruction. 

Suddenly  the  approaching  spans  stood  still.  They 
remained  motionless,  each  end  some  three  feet  from 
me.    Then,  slowly,  they  began  to  recede. 

"Jump,  Arnold !"  I  heard  David  scream  above  the 
uproar. 

I  saw  the  plan  to  isolate  me  there,  where  none 
could  reach  me,  helpless  in  the  mid-Temple.  I  gath- 
ered Esther  high  in  my  arms,  stepped  back,  and 
sprang;  I  felt  myself  falling.  Still  clutching  Esther 
with  one  hand,  I  groped  in  blindness  with  the  other. 


The  Heart  of  the  People  279 

I  struck  the  edge  of  the  span.  Hands  held  me ;  hands 
pulled  Esther  free ;  I  stood  among  our  friends,  and 
behind  us  already  the  Guard  was  beaten  backward. 

I  saw  the  tattered  outlaws'  figures  everywhere. 
Only  around  Sanson  were  the  Guard  still  potent.  He 
saw  the  situation ;  he  knew  his  power  was  crumbling 
as  Lembken's  had  crumbled;  and,  pushing  his  body- 
guard aside,  strode  forward  and  held  up  his  hand 
for  silence.  Even  then  —  so  great  was  his  power  — 
at  the  gesture,  all  motion  in  the  Temple  ceased;  I 
saw  arrested  Ray  rods,  not  yet  discharged,  held 
stiffly,  limbs  halted  in  air,  necks  craned  toward  the 
speaker  and  immobile. 

**Choose,  then!"  Sanson  called  in  words  that  rang 
like  a  trumpet's  blast.  *Tt  is  your  supreme  moment. 
Will  you  have  your  Messiah  or  will  you  have  my 
gi  ft  —  immortality  ?" 

''Give  us  God!"  screamed  the  woman's  voicie;  and 
then  a  thousand  and  ten  thousand  answered  him : 

"Give  us  God!" 

"TheGodof  Bonham!" 

"Our  fathers'  God,  Whom  we  denied." 

The  people  had  answered  truly  in  the  supreme 
moment,  as  they  must  always,  that  the  world  may  not 
cease.  For,  in  the  words  of  Renan,  "the  heart  of  the 
common  people  is  the  great  reservoir  of  the  self- 
devotion  and  resignation  by  which  alone  the  world 
can  be  saved." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

LEMBKEN 

^TpHE  maneuvers  of  our  party  had  been  so  skilfully 
planned  and  carried  out  so  surely  that  the 
Temple  fell  into  our  hands  almost  immediately.  En- 
tering upon  that  side  which  faced  the  Airscouts' 
Fortress,  our  men  had  surprised  and  overpowered 
the  guards  posted  about  the  elevators,  and  driven 
them  in  flight  toward  the  Science  Wing,  into  which 
Sanson  withdrew  to  rally  them  about  him. 

The  Council  Hall  and  offices  beneath  it  were 
occupied  as  quickly.  Including  the  Airscouts'  For- 
tress, we  had  thus  three-fourths  of  the  quadrilateral 
in  our  possession;  but  the  Guard  held  the  Science 
Wing  in  strength,  and,  of  course,  the  surrounding 
wall,  armed  with  the  Ray  artillery  and  commanding 
everythin;^  within  it. 

The  change  of  fortune  was  so  swift  that  I  could 
hardly  grasp  its  significance  immediately.  Carrying 
Esther,  and  surrounded  by  a  frenzied  mob,  I  was 
dragged  from  the  bridge  to  the  corridor  of  the  ele- 
vators, between  Elizabeth  and  David,  pent  up  among 
five  hundred  men,  some  carrying  Ray  rods  and  try- 
ing to  force  their  way  through  the  Temple  in  the 
direction  of   the   Science   Wing,   others   returning, 

280 


Lemhken  281 

realizing  the  impossibility  of  pushing  through  the 
crowds,  and  others,  merely  spectators,  unarmed,  who 
had  gone  mad  with  delirious  joy.  The  confusion 
was  indescribable,  and,  to  make  it  worse,  these  people 
seemed  to  look  to  me  for  leadership,  while  I  was 
caught  in  the  throng  and  helpless.  Precious  moments 
were  passing. 

Into  the  mob  burst  a  man  heading  a  little  group  of 
revolutionists. 

''Follow  me !"  he  shouted.  "To  the  Science  Wing ! 
Capture  the  bridges!    Follow  me!" 

As  he  spoke  the  Temple  lights  went  out.  I  was 
not  yet  clear  of  the  bridge.  Inch  by  inch  I  struggled 
onward,  but  in  the  darkness  the  confusion  was  still 
more  undisciplined;  and  while  the  oncoming  party 
still  fought  for  a  foothold  I  heard  a  rending,  strain- 
ing sound  behind  me,  a  crash  of  wood,  and  a  mighty 
fall  that  set  the  w^hole  building  echoing.  Shouts, 
oaths,  and  groans  came  from  below;  the  span  on 
which  we  stood  shook  from  the  concussion. 

There  was  no  need  to  ask  what  had  occurred. 
Sanson  had  cut  down  the  farther  half  of  the  bridge, 
securing  himself  against  attack  from  the  upper  floor 
of  the  Temple. 

Then  a  voice,  bellov/ing  with  rage  and  ferocity, 
arose : 

''Follow  me !  Seize  the  elevators !  To  Lembken ! 
To  the  People's  House!'' 


282  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

The  mob  broke  and  dissolved,  carrying  me  with  it 
into  the  corridor.  I  saw  the  leader  w^ith  the  Assyrian 
beard  heading  the  rush  for  the  elevator  shafts.  He 
carried  all  with  him.  But  the  shafts  were  empty ;  the 
elevators  had  been  drawn  up.  There  followed  howls 
of  fury. 

"Lembken!''  shrieked  the  mob.  ''Out  w^ith  him! 
Out  with  the  defective!" 

It  was  queer,  that  word ;  but  one  impulse  animated 
all.  They  plunged  after  their  leader,  scrambling  up 
the  ironwork  of  the  interior,  and  clinging  there  like 
flies  as  they  worked  their  way  upward.  The  little 
band  of  disciplined  men  alone  stood  still,  and  their 
chief  turned  to  me  with  a  wry  look. 

"We  are  too  late,"  he  said.  ''Sanson  has  got  his 
men  together.  We  shall  have  to  storm  the  Wing 
from  below.  Half  our  men  have  joined  in  that 
mad  attack  on  Lembken,  who  is  helpless,  whereas 
Sanson — " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  despair.  Then  David 
turned  to  me. 

"You  must  bring  them  back,  Arnold,"  he  said. 
"They  will  obey  and  follow  you.    Leave  Esther — " 

He  saw  the  look  on  my  face,  and  began  to  plead 
with  me.  "It  is  your  duty,  Arnold."  he  cried.  "All 
will  be  lost  unless  you  can  draw  off  our  men  from 
the  Palace.  I  will  protect  her  with  my  life."  He 
bent  down  and  looked  into  Esther's  face,  and  an 


Lembken  283 

expression  of  amazement  came  upon  his  own.  It 
occurred  to  me  afterward  that  he  had  never  believed 
that  Esther  really  lived.  But  at  the  time  only  the 
thought  of  this  flickered  through  my  brain,  and  it 
yielded  to  more  urgent  ones. 

'They  will  follow  you!"  cried  David. 

I  hesitated  no  longer.  I  placed  Esther's  uncon- 
scious body  in  Elizabeth's  arms,  and,  without  stop- 
ping to  glance  at  her,  lest  it  sap  my  resolution, 
I  plunged  into  the  shaft  and  began  to  scramble 
upward. 

Somehow  I  reached  the  summit.  I  fell  upon  my 
hands  within  the  Palace.  The  mob  was  swarming 
everywhere,  in  every  room,  it  seemed,  and  through 
the  gardens.  I  ran  out  under  the  dome.  The  winter 
sun  shone  through  a  gray  fog,  a  blood-red  ball  of 
fire. 

The  yelling  mob  swept  through  the  groves.  Its 
fury  was  unleashed,  and  the  remembered  wrongs  of 
years  impelled  it  to  universal  destruction.  I  saw  at 
the  first  glance  that  these  men  were  beyond  the  power 
of  argument.  With  their  bare  hands  they  tore  up 
palms  and  tossed  them  down  into  the  courts  through 
jagged  holes  in  the  transparent  walls.  They  tore  the 
panes  out  of  their  settings,  twisting  the  thin,  un- 
splintering  glass  until  it  writhed  everywhere,  coiled, 
crystal  snakes  among  the  uprooted  flowers.  They 
spared  nothing.    The  yellow  orange  spheres  gleamed 


284  TJie  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

in  the  rank  grass.    The  scent  of  orange  flowers  was 
choking. 

I  ran  among  them,  calling  on  them  to  follow  me 
back,  for  the  sake  of  our  cause,  to  join  their  com- 
rades, hard  pressed  by  Sanson.  Most  of  them  did 
not  seem  to  hear  me;  some  raised  their  heads  from 
their  work,  stared  at  me  for  a  moment,  and  resumed 
their  wild  task  of  ruin.  It  came  to  me  then  that  I 
was  unknown  to  them.  Not  one  in  a  hundred  of 
these  men  had  seen  my  face  more  than  a  moment  or 
tw^o  upon  the  altar  platform. 

I  turned  and  ran  through  the  Palace  rooms,  still 
calling,  and  still  unheeded.  The  mob  was  sweeping 
onward  like  an  avalanche.  They  had  torn  the  costly 
hangings  from  the  w^alls.  From  the  blue  rooms,  mull 
rooms,  red  rooms,  purple  rooms,  all  the  baroque, 
fantastic,  and  depraved  trappings  of  Lembken's 
gleaning  were  heaped  into  great  rolls  at  which  the 
furious  army  hacked  and  tore.  In  one  place  it  was 
venting  its  rage  upon  a  heap  of  masquerade  clothing. 
Pieces  were  flung  from  man  to  man,  and  some,  tear- 
ing great  rents  in  garments,  thrust  their  heads 
through  them  and  continued  in  the  pursuit,  with 
skirts  about  their  shoulders  and  leopard  skins  about 
their  bodies.  A  tun  of  wine  had  overturned  and 
spilled,  and  the  contents  crept  like  a  rivulet  along 
the  floor,  seeping  from  room  to  room.  The  conduit 
that  fed  the  artificial  brooks,  being  slashed,  poured 


Lembken  285 

out  a  muddy  stream  that  dogged  our  heels,  befouling 
the  slashed  rugs  and  tattered  coverlets.  And  ever 
the  cries  became  more  furious. 

The  mob  was  yelling  with  one  universal  voice. 
Palm  trees  were  hurled  from  man  to  man,  clods  of 
earth  clung  to  walls,  mud  spattered  everything.  I 
followed,  breathless,  imploring,  pleading  in  vain.  No 
one  paid  me  the  least  attention.  Some,  indeed, 
scowled  at  me,  but  the  spirit  of  destruction,  seizing 
them  before  the  words  were  framed  on  their  lips, 
hurled  them  along.  They  swept  me  with  them.  At 
the  head  was  the  giant,  bellowing  in  frantic  wrath. 
The  mob  followed  him,  hypnotized;  and  he,  armed 
with  a  spiked  stanchion  which  he  must  have 
wrenched  from  some  portion  of  the  wall  supports, 
dashed  the  weapon  in  furious  assault  against  each 
door,  and  shattered  it,  leading  the  chase  down  every 
corridor  of  the  bewildering  place,  returning,  hot  on 
the  scent,  dog-like,  and  the  great  arms  thrashing  the 
club  from  side  to  side. 

The  Palace  was  enormous.  We  had  not  covered 
half  of  it,  and  we  had  seen  no  one.  But,  as  we  ran, 
shouts  came  from  another  party  behind  us,  roars 
mingled  with  shrieks,  and,  keening  above  all 
clamor,  I  heard  that  bloodhound  cry  that  breaks  from 
human  throats  when  the  death  hunt  draws  near  to 
its  finale. 

With  an  answering  roar   our  mob  turned   and 


286  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

sprang  toward  its  victims,  smashing  down  doors 
and  wrenching  weapons  from  legs  of  tables  and 
woodwork  of  the  walls.  The  quarry  was  found. 
Like  bolting  hares  they  turned  and  scuttled  into  the 
small,  hidden  room,  where  they  cowered,  women  and 
negro  eunuchs,  still  dressed  in  the  masquerade  of  the 
revels  that  Lembken  had  held  that  night  even  while 
his  empire  was  breaking  from  his  hand.  Horned 
women,  women  in  dominoes,  in  striped  and  spotted 
hides,  Elizabethans  wearing  hooped  skirts  and  huge, 
starched  neck  frills,  Victorian  girls  with  parasols 
and  corseted  bodies,  a  motley,  cowering  crew,  less 
abject  only  than  the  cringing  blacks,  eyed  their  pur- 
suers with  terror-stricken  looks  that  sought  their 
eyes  for  pity  and  found  only  hatred. 

The  giant  leaped  out  before  his  followers  and 
whirled  his  spiked  club.  "Where  is  Lembken?"  he 
roared.  "Where  are  his  men?"  All  the  while  his 
eyes  searched  the  women's  faces ;  but  he  did  not  find 
her  whom  he  sought. 

"There  are  no  men,"  a  frightened  woman  gasped. 
"There  were  never  any  but  Lembken.  We  have 
never  seen  any  others  in  our  lives." 

He  had  lied  to  me,  then,  when  he  spoke  of  his 
friends.  How  long  would  he  have  endured  me  there 
before  the  poisoned  cup  came  to  me  ?  I  felt  my  own 
hate  and  wrath  become  implacable  as  that  of  the  mob. 

The  giant  clutched  at  a  cringing  negro  boy  and 


The    giant    leaped   out   before    his    followers' 

are  th 


kVhere   is   Lembken?"    he    roared.      "Where 

tien?" 


Lenihken  287 

pulled  him   from  his  knees.      ''Where  is  he?"  he 
shouted. 

The  boy  was  tongue-tied  with  fear.  But  a  girl 
stepped  forth  bravely.  "That  way !"  she  said,  point- 
ing toward  a  door. 

The  mob  whirled  through  in  a  torrent,  following 
the  Assyrian-bearded  giant.  I  heard  their  shouts 
grow  fainter.  The  women  bolted,  scattering  through 
the  dismantled  rooms,  seeking  some  other  refuge. 
But  one  of  them  stopped  and  then  came  toward  me 
quickly. 

"She  lied !  He  is  there,"  she  whispered,  pointing 
toward  a  wall.  "Kill  him,  but  whisper  my  name  in 
his  ear  before  he  dies." 

I  looked  at  the  girl  and  recognized  Coral,  the 
maid  who  had  supplanted  Amaranth.  I  turned 
quickly  toward  the  wall,  and  my  eyes  discovered  the 
hidden  door,  flush  with  the  wall.  I  burst  it  open 
and  ran  through. 

I  raced  along  a  winding  passage,  hearing  the  mob's 
cries  far  away  as  they  ran  on  the  false  scent  they 
had  taken  up.  I  emerged  suddenly  upon  a  little  plat- 
form fronting  a  part  of  the  crystal  wall  that  was  still 
standing  in  the  rear  of  the  Palace.  The  mob  had  not 
yet  found  the  approaches  to  this  secret  refuge. 

A  glass  gateway  within  the  wall  stood  open,  and 
outside,  at  rest  in  the  air,  I  saw  the  dark  airplane, 
with  Hancock  at  the  wheel.    And  at  the  gate,  hesi- 


288  Tlw  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

tating  to  set  his  feet  upon  the  narrow  plank  that  led 
to  safety,  was  Lembken.  His  arms  were  filled  with 
bundles,  and  on  his  shoulder  a  monkey  perched, 
mouthing  and  gibbering.  At  his  side  kneeled  a 
young  girl,  with  hands  clasped,  urging  Lembken  to 
flight. 

The  old  man  heard  me  and  turned  around.  I  saw 
Hancock  start  forward,  raise  a  Ray  rod,  and  aim  it 
at  me.  But  Lembken  stood  in  the  way,  and  he  could 
not  fire. 

The  girl  leaped  at  me,  clutching  me  by  the  arms 
with  surprising  strength,  and  crying  to  Lembken  to 
fly.  But  the  obese  old  man  only  stared  into  my  face. 
Fear  seemed  to  have  paralyzed  him.  He  did  not 
remember  me,  but  my  presence  seemed  to  awaken 
some  association  in  his  mind,  and,  as  I  watched,  I 
saw  it  flash  into  consciousness. 

"Jacquette !"  he  screamed  in  a  tremulous  falsetto. 
*'I  have  forgotten  her.    I  must  go  back  for  her." 

He  scrambled  past  me,  and  the  girl,  releasing  me, 
ran  after  him.  I  followed.  On  we  ran,  till  Lembken 
turned  into  a  tiny  room,  once  meant  to  be  a 
hiding  place,  no  doubt,  but  now  doorless  and  bare. 
Again  I  heard  the  shouting.  The  mob  was  drawing 
near. 

On  a  perch  beside  the  entrance  sat  the  gaudy 
macaw,  head  on  one  side,  preening  her  plumage. 

"The  people's  friend!"  she  cackled.     "The  pec- 


Lembken  289 

pie's  friend!  Friend — friend — friend — friend  — 
frien — " 

With  a  cry  of  delight  Lembken  snatched  at  her. 
She  fluttered  to  his  shoulder.  He  turned,  and,  with 
monkey  and  bird  against  his  sagging  cheeks,  he  began 
to  make  his  way  along  the  passage.  As  he  ran  I  saw 
another  corridor  at  right  angles  to  this,  and,  at  the 
end,  daylight  and  the  waste  of  uprooted  palms.  The 
mob  was  sweeping  past.  They  saw  him;  they 
howled  and  dashed  to  cut  off  his  flight. 

Lembken  saw  them,  doubled  back,  dashing  in  panic 
from  room  to  room.  The  mob  was  everywhere  about 
him,  searching  for  him,  blocking  all  exits;  their 
howls  were  a  continuous  sound. 

They  were  upon  him.  Lembken  fell  on  his  knees 
and  pulled  a  Ray  rod  from  his  robes.  With  shaking, 
nerveless  fingers  he  forced  up  the  guard.  He  held 
it  to  his  breast;  but  it  fell  from  his  hand. 

''Kill  me!"  he  muttered  to  the  girl. 

She  flung  her  arms  about  him ;  and  thus  the  mob 
found  them. 

The  giant  leaped  at  them.  His  bellowings  shook 
the  walls.  He  sprang  for  Lembken,  caught  him  by 
the  throat,  and  forced  his  head  upward.  I  saw  the 
loose  spike  in  his  hand.  The  monkey  chattered,  the 
parrot  stretched  out  her  neck  and  snapped,  shrieking 
her  phrases.  Between  the  men  the  frail  girl  wrestled, 
dashing  her  weak  fists  into  the  giant's  face. 


290  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 


The  roaring  mob  choked  the  narrow  corridor  on 
either  side.  "Death  to  him !"  they  shrieked.  "Death ! 
Death!" 

The  old  man  caught  the  words  upon  his  tongue 
and  screamed. 

"Not  death!"  he  yelped.  "I'm  Lembken.  I 
can't  die.  I  never  thought  of  death  —  dying — 
going  nowhere  —  nowhere  —  nothing  —  I  want  to 
live  —  " 

He  cowered  behind  the  girl,  thrusting  her  between 
himself  and  his  enemy.  So  furious  were  her  strug- 
gles that  she  forced  the  giant  away.  She  dashed 
her  fists  into  his  eyes  again  and  again,  until  he  turned 
on  her  and  gripped  her  by  the  wrists,  twisting  her 
backward.  He  looked  into  her  face  for  the  first 
time. 

"Let  him  go!"  she  screamed.  "Don't  hurt  him. 
He  is  old  —  he  is  old — he  has  done  no  harm — he  is 
the  people's  friend  —  he  has  told  me  so — I  love 
him— '* 

The  giant  dropped  her  wrists  and  staggered  back. 
His  horror-painted  face  became  a  tragic  mask.  He 
moaned,  and  his  hands  groped  impotently  in  the  air 
for  something  that  he  failed  to  find.  It  was  not  the 
blood  in  his  eyes  that  blinded  him.  For  this  was  she 
whom  he  had  sought,  torn  from  his  home,  the  last 
to  share  Lembken's  favor,  the  child  whom  I  had  seen 
dragged  from  the  Council  Hall,  her  innocent  child's 


Leinhken  291 

heart  loyal  in  his  last  hour  to  the  only  lover  she 
knew. 

It  wrung  my  heart,  the  pity  of  it :  this  blossom  of 
love  that  sprang  from  that  festering,  rank  soil  of 
human  baseness. 

The  next  instant  the  mob  swept  over  us.  They 
seized  their  prey  and  stamped  out  the  life  beneath 
their  feet.  I  saw  the  quivering  body  tossed  high  in 
the  air  and  dashed  from  wall  to  wall,  trampled  on, 
hacked,  and  torn.  I  saw  it  poised  against  the  crystal 
walls,  saw  the  dark  airplane  swoop  to  safety  amid 
a  hail  of  Ray  fire;  and  then  the  air  was  filled  with 
zig-zag  flashes  of  blinding  light. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE   COMING   OF   THE   CROSS 

T  STOOD  with  a  small  group  of  our  men  beneath 
the  dome,  where  Lembken's  gardens  had  been. 
The  havoc  that  had  been  wrought  is  almost  indescrib- 
able. The  beauty  molded  by  the  most  cunning  hands 
in  Europe  had  been  obliterated  in  one  short  hour. 
The  gardens  were  a  waste  of  uprooted  trees  and 
trampled  earth,  while  from  the  broken  conduit  a 
dozen  muddy  streams  were  pouring  like  high  water- 
falls upon  the  courts  below.  The  Palace  was  a  mass 
of  wreckage,  in  which  the  mob  still  moved,  shouting 
for  fire  to  finish  the  work  of  destruction. 

I  had  been  recognized  at  last,  and  we  were  search- 
ing for  our  men  among  the  rabble,  gathering  the 
nucleus  of  a  force  to  render  aid  to  our  party,  hard- 
pressed,  below.  I  had  managed  to  achieve  some- 
thing at  last :  I  had  detailed  a  dozen  men  with  Ray 
rods  to  guard  the  women.  That  was  all  I  could 
accomplish. 

The  ground  about  the  Temple  was  already  strewn 
with  blackened,  twisted  figures.  From  the  conical 
Ray  guns  on  the  enclosing  walls  swept  sheets  of 
blinding  flame,  a  soundless  cannonade  that  pecked  at 
the  interstices  in  the  walls  of  the  Temple  and  of  the 

292 


The  Coming  of  the  Cross  293 

Airscouts'  Fortress,  seeking  for  some  unpainted  spot 
between  the  blocks  of  stone,  some  small,  abraded 
surface  where  the  cold  Rays  might  find  lodgment.  I 
heard  the  crumbling  of  disintegrating  mortar  and 
saw  fragments  of  stone  flying  from  cornice  and  pedi- 
ment. Soon  gaps  would  open  and  the  whole  splendid 
pile  tumble  into  a  heap  of  shapeless  ruins. 

The  Rays  flashed  to  and  fro  like  brilliant  light- 
ning. I  was  half  blinded;  all  I  could  discern, was 
that  Sanson  still  held  the  Science  Wing,  from  whose 
windows  the  Guard  were  picking  off  our  men  be- 
neath them.  I  surmised  from  the  shouting  that  we 
were  attacking  the  Wing  from  the  ground  floor  of 
the  Temple. 

We  had  gathered  most  of  our  men  together,  and 
we  plunged  for  the  elevator  shafts  and  scrambled 
down.  My  pulses  hammered  with  fear  as  I  entered 
the  corridor  below.  But  there  stood  David,  and 
Elizabeth  kneeled  beside  him,  with  Esther's  head  in 
her  lap.  She  looked  at  me  and  smiled  with  so  brave 
an  effort  that  I  realized  her  own  anxiety.  Some- 
where in  the  deadly  tumult  Paul  was  fighting,  unless, 
indeed,  he  lay  among  those  shapeless  masses  that 
strewed  the  courts. 

Our  men  swept  by  me  and  poured  along  the  cor- 
ridor toward  the  bridge. 

'T  have  fulfilled  my  promise,  Arnold,"  said  David. 
*'Now  I  must  take  Elizabeth  within  the  shelter  of 


294  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

the  Airscouts'  Fortress,  and  you  will  follow  with 
Esther.  Then  each  of  us  must  do  his  best  to  rally 
parties  to  the  assault.  All  is  not  going  well,  Arnold. 
Our  Ray  rods  are  emptying  fast,  and  the  storage 
batteries  within  the  Airscouts'  Fortress  have  been 
destroyed,  so  that  we  cannot  recharge  them;  the 
attack  upon  the  lower  level  of  the  Wing  has  failed. 
Sanson  has  placed  a  Ray  gun  there.  All  hangs  upon 
the  battleplanes,  and  they  have  not  returned." 

He  put  his  arm  about  his  daughter  and  hurried 
her  toward  the  bridge,  while  I  picked  up  Esther,  still 
plunged  in  that  first  sleep,  and  followed  him.  I  saw 
him  lead  Elizabeth  to  safety,  but  as  I  was  about  to 
follow,  a  sheet  of  purple  light  swept  past  me,  tearing 
a  stanchion  from  the  bridge  and  knocking  down  a 
part  of  the  brick  house  on  the  wall  above,  where 
Lembken  had  taken  me  that  night  of  our  first 
meeting. 

A  gun  was  playing  on  the  bridge.  It  was  impos- 
sible to  cross  at  present.    I  drew  back,  waiting. 

Then  a  babel  of  cries  broke  out  on  the  opposite 
side,  so  fierce  and  wild  that,  grasping  Esther  more 
tightly,  I  rushed  to  a  window  at  the  further  end  of 
the  corridor,  commanding  a  view  of  the  exterior 
courts.  The  long  bridges  were  packed  with  our  men, 
making  a  mad  sortie  to  scale  the  enclosing  walls. 
Streaks  of  light,  pitiably  thin,  flashed  from  their 
Ray  rods,  and,   with  exultant  shouts,   the  Guard 


The  Coming  of  the  Cross  295 

sprang  forward  to  meet  them.  They  were  dragging 
lighter  Ray  guns  behind  them.  For  an  instant  it 
seemed  as  if  the  revolutionists  would  scale  the  walls 
before  the  heavy  Ray  artillery  could  be  reaimed  at 
them.  The  foremost  files  of  the  opposing  forces 
clashed  and  surged  and  swayed  in  a  rain  of  meteor 
flashes.  The  blackened  corpses  heaped  the  bridges, 
hung,  toppled  over,  and  went  to  swell  the  heaps 
below.  Then,  with  a  renewed  outburst  of  shouting, 
the  Guard  drove  back  the  attack  and  placed  their 
guns. 

The  blinding  flashes  swept  the  bridges,  playing  like 
ribands  of  silvery  blue  along  the  course  of  their 
discharge.  Everywhere  along  the  bridges  swarmed 
the  stampede  of  flight,  checked  where  the  Rays 
caught  the  fugitives  and  twisted  them  into  charred 
lumps,  sweeping  away  the  superstructure  also,  and 
the  bridge  rails.  I  saw  one  bridge  go  down,  as  a  de- 
flected Ray  wrenched  it  from  its  piers.  It  spewed  its 
burden  upon  the  stones  below,  and  from  among  the 
dead,  little  figures  leaped  up  and  began  to  run  for 
refuge  toward  the  Council  Wing;  and  there  a  blast 
from  a  Ray  gun  found  them,  and  the  heavy  doors 
crumbled  upon  them,  and  wood  and  men  were 
ground  into  the  same  pulpy  blackness.  The  Ray  had 
found  the  weak  spots  of  the  great  buildings,  and 
from  the  Temple  top  huge  stones  came  crashing 
down,  rebounding  along  the  courts  and  splintering 


296  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

into  fragments.  Clouds  of  dust  rose  up  like  smoke 
from  conflagrations. 

The  flowing  tide  of  the  Guard's  victory  rolled  on 
unchecked.  Their  shouts  were  frightful.  They  held 
the  courts,  now  piled  with  debris  from  the  buildings 
above  them.  I  ran  with  Esther  back  toward  the 
bridge,  crossed  it,  and  gained  the  shelter  of  the  Air- 
scouts'  Fortress.  Before  me  was  a  flight  of  stone 
steps ;  I  ran  up,  shouting.  Nobody  answered  me.  I 
gained  the  summit  and  found  myself  alone  there. 

Looking  down  from  the  roof  I  saw  that  the  Guard 
were  swarming  in  the  Temple.  They  had  regained 
that;  they  had  driven  our  men  from  the  Airscouts' 
Fortress,  on  which  I  stood,  trapped,  since  it  was 
impossible  to  cross  the  courts.  Where  were  our 
forces?  I  saw  the  locust  cloud  of  attack  break 
against  the  doors  of  the  oflices  beneath  the  Council 
Hall.  That  was  our  last  stronghold.  The  Ray 
flashes  played  on  the  walls,  but  they  held  fast. 

Then  out  of  the  south  a  flock  of  giant  birds  came 
wheeling.  They  swooped  toward  us  and  resolved 
themselves  into  the  airplane  fleet.  They  dipped  their 
luminous  wings  and  circled  around  us,  and  a  mazy 
pattern  of  light  shot  downward  upon  the  ranks  of  the 
Guard. 

The  battleplanes  had  settled  their  differences,  and 
three-fourths  of  them  had  returned  to  fight  for  us. 

I  saw  the  Guard  race  back  for  tlieir  sheltering 


The  Coining  of  the  Cross  297 

walls.  The  Ray  artillery  shot  upward  to  meet  the 
challenge  of  the  battleplanes.  To  and  fro  overhead 
wheeled  the  great  shining  birds  in  soundless  duel. 
The  conflict  appeared  the  more  frightful  because  of 
this  silence.  Only  those  at  the  guns  knew  what  was 
happening. 

But  presently,  as  the  flock  wheeled,  I  saw  one 
tower  like  a  shot  pheasant  and  then  tumble.  It 
plunged  into  the  court  and  lay,  a  shapeless  mass, 
upon  the  stones.  The  Ray  gun  had  found  its  de- 
fenseless parts  as  it  maneuvered.  A  second  battle- 
plane came  hurtling  down.  It  struck  the  Temple 
wall,  seemed  to  cling  there  like  a  bat,  and,  fluttering 
like  a  dying  thing,  plunged  to  the  stones  beside  its 
shattered  mate. 

The  Guard  was  winning.  The  enclosing  walls 
stood  fast.  Our  last  hope  seemed  to  be  gone.  The 
sun  was  dipping  into  the  west. 

I  dared  not  carry  Esther  through  that  fire-swept 
zone.  It  was  my  plan,  should  Sanson's  men  reoccupy 
the  Airscouts'  Fortress,  to  seek  refuge  within  the 
little,  half-secret  room  where  Jones  had  hidden  us. 
Meanwhile  I  waited  on  the  roof,  behind  the  glow- 
painted  shield  of  a  single  empty  airplane  that  was 
resting  there.  Twilight  fell,  and  the  soundless  fight 
went  on.  The  battleplanes  were  circling  higher,  and 
their  fire  was  utterly  ineffective.  I  judged,  from  its 
growing  infrequency,  that  their  solar  batteries  were 


298  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

becoming  emptied.  Meanwhile  our  men,  pent  in  the 
council  offices,  waited  for  the  finale. 

Hourly  our  situation  grew  more  desperate.  An- 
other battleplane  went  down.  The  game  was  in 
Sanson's  hands  after  all.  Our  only  chance  had  been 
in  the  surprise,  and  the  mad  rush  to  the  People's 
House  and  the  confusion  in  the  Temple  had  spoiled 
all  plans  and  allowed  our  enemy  to  concentrate  his 
men.    Where  was  he,  I  wondered. 

Suddenly  shouts  broke  out  again  from  the  walls, 
and  were  caught  up  and  echoed  back  from  the  Coun- 
cil Hall.  Southward,  high  in  the  sky,  pin-points  of 
light  appeared,  like  vagrant  stars,  which  became 
larger,  wheeled,  extended. 

The  Guard  cheered  frantically.  I  heard  the  cry 
"America!" 

If  this  was  the  Mormon  fleet,  come  to  aid  Lemb- 
ken,  there  was  no  doubt  with  which  side  it  would 
join.  Perhaps  the  Guard  knew  already  that  Sanson 
had  outwitted  Lembken  and  outbid  him  for  its 
support. 

The  airfleet  snot  upward,  drew  together,  and  a 
single  light,  detaching  itself,  flew  like  a  rocket  up- 
ward, moving  in  the  direction  of  the  oncoming  battle- 
planes, which  seemed  to  hang  poised  above,  like  a 
new  group  of  Pleiades.  The  rocket's  apparent  speed 
dwindled,  until  it  seemed  to  move  as  slowly  as  any 
star.    I  saw  a  second  light  shoot  downward,  detach- 


The  Coming  of  the  Cross  299 


ing  itself  from  those  clustered  orbs,  to  meet  it.  I 
held  my  breath,  as  all  must  have  done,  for  not  a  Ray 
was  fired,  nor  was  there  any  sound  as  the  fate  of  the 
world  hung  upon  those  nearing  points.  They  circled 
about  each  other,  a  binary  star;  they  moved  together; 
and  suddenly  they  plunged  downward,  the  whole 
oncoming  fleet  following  them,  and  the  roar  of  a 
thousand  throats  rang  from  the  Council  Hall : 

'The  Russians !  The  Russians!  The  Tsar!  The 
Tsar!" 

The  lights  grew  larger  and  resolved  themselves 
into  the  glow  parallelograms  again,  and  the  great 
fleet  of  battleplanes  descended  toward  the  wall. 
Again  the  pattern  of  light  interplayed  with  the  an- 
swering fire  from  the  Ray  artillery  of  the  Guard. 

The  new  squadron  was  armed  with  Rays  almost 
as  strong,  taken  in  Stockholm,  and  worked  by  Swed- 
ish gunners.  Searchlights  and  glow  rays  blended  in 
heliotrope  and  pink  and  blue,  playing  about  the  walls, 
carrying  the  most  murderous  death  that  man  had 
ever  devised.  And  it  appeared  incredible  that  death 
lay  hidden  within  that  warp  and  woof  of  color  that 
intercrossed  through  space,  blending  and  twisting, 
and  forming  a  thousand  patterns  upon  the  night. 
Once  a  battleplane,  caught  as  she  wheeled,  came 
crashing  down;  but  the  next  moment  the  persistent 
Ray  found  an  unprotected  place  in  the  walls  at  last, 
and  hammered  at  it,  dislodging  mortar  and  stones. 


300         The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

till,  with  a  mighty  roar,  a  tower  fell  toppling  into 
the  court,  leaving  a  great  breach  in  the  Guard's 
fortress. 

Instantly  two  battleplanes  lit  like  great  birds,  and 
behind  their  shields  a  score  of  men  swarmed  out, 
carrying  swords  and  Ray  shields,  interlocked.  The 
line  swept  onward,  to  encounter  the  Ray  rods  of  the 
defense.  I  saw  it  crumple  and  twist.  But  other  bat- 
tleplanes had  alighted  along  the  breach,  and  every- 
where small  groups  were  forming  between  the  Ray 
guns,  which  could  not  be  aimed  before  they  were 
attacked,  the  gunners  sabered,  and  the  great  conical 
machines  made  useless.  The  valor  which  had  over- 
thrown the  Federation's  troops  before  Tula  was  not 
helpless  here. 

But  from  each  wing  a  blast  of  fire  caught  the 
downward  swooping  battleplanes  and  crumpled  them. 
No  attack  could  live  before  that  devastating  cross- 
fire. I  saw  the  groups  of  swordsmen  wither,  fall 
back,  until  the  bodies  heaped  before  them,  on  which 
they  planted  their  glow  shields,  formed  an  impreg- 
nable rampart.  But  the  artillery  was  retaken,  the 
battleplanes,  surprised  and  broken  in  the  ebb-tide  of 
defeat,  were  piled  in  indistinguishable  heaps  within 
the  courts.  The  Guard  turned  the  artillery  upon  the 
stubborn  line  that  mounted  the  breach.  Once  more 
the  fortune  of  the  day  was  turning. 

I  saw  the  ragged  figures  of  our  men  run  from  the 


1 


Upon  the  walls  the  Guard  were  swarming 

Ray  artil] 


i;ard  the  defenders.     Out  of  their  midst  the 
/  belched 


The  Coming  of  the  Cross  301 


Council  Hall  across  the  courts.  Then  the  Guard 
about  Sanson  in  the  Science  Wing  streamed  forth  to 
meet  them.  The  Ray  rods  flashed,  and  the  ghastly 
murder  began  once  more. 

Upon  the  walls  the  Guard  were  swarming  toward 
the  defenders.  Out  of  their  midst  the  Ray  artillery 
belched.  It  found  the  chinks  among  the  shields, 
and  a  sheet  of  white  flame  swept  through  the  Rus- 
sians' ranks.  Their  wall  of  interlocked  shields  had 
carried  them  into  death's  jaws,  but  now  the  jaws 
were  closing.    I  closed  my  eyes  in  anguish. 

I  opened  them  in  darkness. 

There  was  no  flash  from  the  conical  guns,  which 
glittered  in  impotence  upon  the  walls.  For  an  in- 
stant I  did  not  understand.  The  next  I  knew.  Jones 
had  cut  the  supply  cables  in  the  Vosges  Mountains. 
He  had  kept  his  promise,  and  in  the  moment  of 
defeat. 

The  same  mad  exultation  seized  all.  I  heard  the 
new  note  of  victory  as  our  men  from  the  Council 
Hall  bore  back  the  defeated  remnants  of  Sanson's 
army.  I  saw  the  Russians  leap  from  behind  their 
shields  and  swarm  into  the  fortress;  saw  the  flash  of 
their  swords  against  the  spurting  fire  of  the  Ray 
rods;  saw  the  defeated  Guard  fly  through  the  courts, 
to  meet  death  there. 

Then  I  stood  face  to  face  with  Sanson. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE    ADMIRAL    OF    THE    AIR 

T  SAW  defeat  written  upon  his  face,  but  there 
was  no  sign  of  fear.  He  stood  alone,  unarmed, 
confronting  me,  and  if  he  had  fled  when  he  saw  that 
his  cause  was  lost  I  do  him  the  justice  to  believe  it 
was  his  undaunted  will  which  drove  him  to  flight, 
that  he  might  plan  new  havoc  for  the  world. 

No  chance  remained  for  him.  By  the  glare  of  the 
searchlights  I  saw  the  last  vestige  of  rout  end  at  the 
Temple  doors.  Trapped  and  surrounded,  the  Guard 
begged  for  quarter.  This  was  accorded  them;  but 
instantly  the  prisoners  were  lost  to  sight  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  enormous  multitudes  that  came  from 
London,  swarming  into  the  courts. 

Sanson's  gaze  shifted  from  my  face  to  Esther's, 
and,  as  if  she  felt  the  man's  presence,  she  stirred, 
and  her  eyelids  unclosed. 

"Arnold!"  she  whispered. 

"Yes,  dear,"  I  answered,  bending  over  her. 

"I  dreamed  that  —  they  had  run  up  the  annex 
thirty  stories,  Arnold,  and  painted  it  shining  white." 

"You  must  sleep  and  dream  no  more,"  I  told  her. 
She  murmured  and  her  eyelids  closed.  Again  the 
kindly  unconsciousness  of  sleep  held  her. 

302 


The  Admiral  of  the  Air  303 

I  placed  her  against  the  anchored  airplane  and 
turned  to  Sanson.  He  was  facing  me  with  that 
strange  and  half -quizzical  look  that  I  remembered 
so  well.  It  had  in  it  more  of  humanity  than  the 
expression  of  any  other  of  his  moods. 

"Arnold,"  he  said  softly,  *'if  I  were  an  ignorant 
man  I  might  be  tempted  to  believe  that  there  is  a 
God,  sometimes.'* 

And  that  was  his  way  also,  to  speak  of  other  things 
in  moments  of  imminent  alarm. 

"Why?"  I  inquired. 

"Because  He  is  so  merciful  to  His  defectives, 
Arnold.  To  think  that  you,  with  your  missing  five 
centimeters,  should  have  defeated  me! 

"Come,"  he  continued,  clapping  his  hand  on  my 
shoulder.  "A  truce  for  a  few  minutes.  A  truce,  for 
the  sake  of  our  old  friendship.  You  are  not  to  blame 
for  your  share  in  this  night's  ruin  of  civilization. 
You  were  the  victim  of  circumstances.  And  then — 
you  are  a  defective  and  could  not  understand. 
Arnold,  I  have  never  had  any  friend  but  you.  And 
sometimes  I  feel  the  need  of  one.  Even  the  gods 
felt  that,  and  I  am  far  from  a  god,  though,  later, 
perhaps  .  .  .  ." 

He  broke  off  and  resumed,  after  a  short  pause : 

"Join  me.  Here  is  my  frank  proposal :  join  me, 
and,  since  indeed  I  would  not  hold  any  woman 
against  her  will,  if  Esther  chooses  you  she  shall  be 


304  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

yours.  This  night  has  undone  the  labor  of  many 
years,  but  those  that  are  past  are  but  as  a  drop  of 
water  in  an  ocean  to  those  which  are  to  come.  I 
have  the  secret  of  immortal  life  at  last  —  not  ghostly 
life  in  some  gold-decorated  heaven,  but  life  in  the 
flesh.    I  will  bestow  the  gift  on  you  —  " 

"Let  it  die  with  you,"  I  answered  passionately. 

He  laughed. 

"This  night's  work,  which  seems  so  wonderful 
to  you,  is  but  an  episode,"  he  said.  "Come  with  me 
to  America,  Arnold.  In  six  months  I  can  build  up 
my  world  anew.  I  shall  be  less,  scrupulous  and 
humane  in  the  future  with  this  miserable  mob.  No 
moron  shall  live,  no  defective  go  free.  I  have  re- 
solved that.  Man  can  rise  only  by  crushing  out 
weakness  and  setting  himself  upon  the  necks  of  those 
who  were  born  to  serve.  In  six  months  America 
will  be  mine;  in  twelve,  the  world.  From  this  time 
onward  it  is  a  battle  to  the  death  against  all  that 
retards  the  human  race." 

His  features  flushed  with  the  energy  of  his  voice. 
I  looked  at  him,  almost  in  admiration.  I  was  dum- 
founded  at  the  audacity  of  his  designs.  Trapped 
here,  a  prisoner  upon  the  fortress  roof,  his  life 
already  gone  when  he  was  found,  this  man  of  sixty 
years  planned  his  universal  empire.  He  was  mad, 
beyond  doubt,  mad  enough  to  dream  impossible 
things  and  make  them  his  in  his  brain's  fertile  king- 


The  Admiral  of  the  Air  305 

dom ;  and  it  was  such  madness  as  moves  mountains. 

"Sanson,  I  will  do  this  much  for  you,'*  I  said. 
"I  will  hide  you  from  the  mob's  fury  in  a  little  room 
near  this  roof,  so  that  you  may  not  be  torn  in  pieces. 
I  will  assure  you  a  fair  trial  at  the  hands  of  the  new 
government.     That  is  all  I  can  promise." 

Would  this  dream  vanish  in  the  realization  of 
fact  ?  I  saw  his  face  fall,  as  if  he  had  come  to  under- 
stand his  position  at  last. 

"Where  is  it?"  he  said  presently.  He  spoke 
slowly,  and  in  a  bewildered  manner,  as  if  he  were 
still  struggling  with  his  dreams. 

I  took  him  by  the  arm  and  led  him  to  the  elevator 
entrance.  "It  is  a  little  room  under  the  roof,"  I 
said.  "The  elevator  passes  it,  but  it  is  hardly  more 
than  a  hole  in  the  wall.  One  would  not  look  for 
you  there." 

I  pressed  the  button,  but  of  course  the  elevator 
did  not  ascend,  since  the  solar  power  was  cut  off. 

Sanson  withdrew  his  arm  from  mine.  I  saw  him 
assume  a  listening  attitude.  "Arnold!"  he  cried 
weakly,  "they  are  coming!    Listen!" 

As  I  relaxed  my  guard,  he  dealt  me  a  buffet  that 
sent  me  flying  down  the  empty  shaft. 

I  had  a  confused  consciousness  of  falling  through 
space,  of  clutching  at  the  shaft  walls;  and  then  I 
was  upon  my  knees,  bruised  and  staring  up  at  the 
light  overhead. 


306  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

Fortunately  the  elevator  had  stopped  a  few  feet 
from  the  top.  Still  dazed,  I  sprang  to  my  feet  and 
began  scrambling  up  the  ironwork.  At  last  I 
staggered  out  upon  the  roof  once  more.  I  saw 
a  dozen  Sansons,  each  of  whom  carried  Esther  in 
his  arms. 

I  tried  to  force  reality  into  these  visions,  to  snatch 
the  living  Sanson  from  among  that  crowd  of  ghosts. 
But  they  had  sprung  into  the  dozen  airplanes  that 
lay  upon  the  swaying  roof  top.  A  touch  of  the 
starting  lever,  a  half  turn  of  the  wheel,  and  as  my 
power  of  vision  came  back  to  me  I  saw  Sanson  rise 
with  Esther  into  the  air.  He  held  her  on  the  seat 
against  him,  the  arm  that  encircled  her  controlling 
the  wheel,  and  he  was  gone  into  the  heart  of  the 
giant  moon  that  was  just  rising  in  the  east,  blood- 
red  behind  her  veil  of  clouds. 

I  stared  after  him.  The  airplane  was  rapidly 
diminishing  in  size.  He  had  outwitted  me  at  the 
last,  by  one  of  those  clumsy  tricks  he  loved,  such  as 
a  schoolboy  plays. 

I  staggered  toward  the  edge.  I  was  minded  to 
fling  myself  down  on  the  stones  below.  One  more 
victim  of  the  day's  work  would  mean  nothing,  and 
doubtless  David  ?nd  Elizabeth  believed  that  I  had 
died  long  ago.  I  tottered  upon  the  brink;  but  then 
a  shadow  glided  toward  me,  and  a  small  airplane 
stopped  at  my  side.    It  was  unshielded,  and  at  the 


The  Admiral  of  the  "Air  307 

prow  was  a  pair  of  the  elongated  jaws.  Air- Admiral 
Hancock  leaned  out  of  it  toward  me. 

*'\Vhere  is  Sanson?"  he  asked  quietly.  *'He  was 
here.    He  was  seen  here." 

I  pointed  into  the  west,  where  the  parallelogram 
of  light  was  diminishing  to  an  irregular  star.  I 
leaped  into  the  plane  beside  him.  **Take  me  with 
you!"  I  cried.  "He  has  stolen  Esther — the  god- 
dess of  the  cylinder." 

Hancock  said  nothing  but  touched  the  lever.  In- 
stantly we  shot  upward  and  raced  like  a  swallow 
across  the  void,  skimming  and  dipping  as  the  wind 
caught  us  and  the  heavy  prow  plunged  through  the 
unequal  air-banks. 

The  buildings  drew  together  beneath  us.  The 
shouts  of  the  multitude  grew  faint  and  died.  The 
luminous  point  in  the  west  grew  larger,  and  against 
the  sky,  now  whitened  by  the  rising  moon,  I  saw 
the  dark  body  between  the  glow  lines,  as  one  sees 
a  ship  at  sea  from  a  mountain  top.  Sanson  was 
heading  southward,  perhaps  with  the  intent  of 
reaching  France  and  rallying  the  forces  of  the  Fed- 
eration there.  We  mounted  higher.  The  forests 
stretched  beneath  us.  Always  we  mounted.  I  cast 
a  glance  at  Hancock's  face.  There  was  a  look  on 
it  that  boded  ill  for  Sanson.  I  was  trying  to  re- 
member something  that  Jones  had  told  me  about 
him,  but  my  own  anxious  thoughts  beat  down  the 


308  The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

elusive  memory.  I,  too,  felt  that  there  would  be  no 
mercy  for  Sanson  when  the  accounts  were  squared. 

Would  anyone  have  mercy?  I  saw  the  answer 
to  that  question  swiftly,  for,  looking  back,  I  saw  two 
lanes  of  airships,  strung  out  behind,  like  flying  geese, 
converging  toward  our  leadership.  Battleplanes, 
scoutplanes,  dark  against  the  brightening  heaven, 
came  hot  on  the  chase.  They  were  in  pursuit  of 
the  common  enemy  of  the  human  race,  and  there 
was  none  among  them,  no  man  in  London  but  had 
some  outrage  to  avenge. 

We  mounted  higher  through  the  bitter  cold.  My 
hands  were  numb,  but  Hancock  kept  his  wheel,  seated 
there,  a  grim,  immovable,  resolute  figure.  Now  we 
burst  into  the  heart  of  a  fierce,  rocking  snowstorm, 
which  blotted  out  the  fugitive;  but  by  some  instinct 
Hancock  seemed  to  know  his  course,  and  he  held  it 
surely  till  we  rose  above  the  storm  and  saw  the  glow 
parallelogram  nearer. 

Sanson  rose  too.  He  must  have  sighted  us  and 
resolved  to  test  his  endurance  against  ours.  We  were 
in  air  so  rarefied  that  I  was  choking  for  breath. 
The  moon  rode  high ;  dawn  was  not  far  away.  We 
were  rushing  toward  the  sea,  which  lay,  a  blur  of 
inky  blackness,  underneath,  edged  by  the  white  line 
of  the  chalk  cliffs  of  the  south  shore.  We  were 
gaining  steadily. 

But  Sanson  did  not  mean  to  cross  the  Channel. 


The  giant  jaws  upon  our  aircraft  gaped.     I  saw  steel  teeth 

within    them 


The  Admiral  of  the  Air  309 

I  do  not  know  what  new  scheme  he  had  conceived; 
perhaps  he  meant  to  turn  and  seek  some  English  city 
where  he  could  defy  the  new  order  and  reorganize 
the  old.  He  wheeled ;  and  the  long  line  of  the  pur- 
suing planes,  struggling  upward,  wheeled  together, 
trying  to  cut  off  his  flight.  He  mounted  still  and 
struck  out  eastward.  But,  with  a  furious  down- 
ward swoop  Hancock  drove  in  toward  him.  I  could 
see  Sanson  sitting  at  the  wheel,  his  arm  still  clasp- 
ing Esther.  He  stopped  in  the  air  and  waited  for 
our  approach. 

"What  do  you  want  ?"  he  shouted. 

The  tone  of  Hancock's  voice  was  implacable.  "My 
son,  Sanson,"  he  answered. 

He  wheeled  away,  and,  as  he  turned  placed  his 
hand  on  a  lever.  The  giant  jaws  upon  our  aircraft 
gaped.  I  saw  steel  teeth  within  them.  We  dashed 
for  Sanson  with  terrific  force.  I  shouted  in  horror, 
laying  my  fingers  upon  Hancock's  sleeve  and  point- 
ing to  Esther.  But  Hancock  did  not  seem  to  hear 
or  feel  me,  perhaps  he  had  never  known  that  I  was 
there ;  all  his  mind  seemed  intent  on  the  accomplish- 
ment of  his  deadly  purpose.  He  drove  home  before 
his  enemy  could  evade  his  course,  and  like  a  hawk 
we  plunged,  struck  Sanson's  vessel  amidships,  and 
smashed  through  steel  and  glow  shield. 

One  instant,  in  the  dead  interval  of  the  stopped 
momentum,  we  rested  motionless  together,  the  gap- 


310         The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

ing  jaws  choked  with  their  meal  and  fast  within 
the  heart  of  Sanson's  plane.  I  flung  myself  across 
the  side,  grasped  Esther,  held  her  in  my  arms,  and 
dragged  her  across  our  bows.  Then  Hancock  leaped 
at  Sanson's  throat. 

Our  airplane  tipped,  righted  herself,  and  drifted 
away.  I  did  not  know  how  to  steer  or  guide,  but 
Hancock  must  automatically  have  locked  the  mech- 
anism to  the  halt,  for  we  drifted  idly,  balancing  upon 
the  wind.  Watching,  I  saw  the  two  struggling  in 
Sanson's  plane. 

She  shuddered  as  she  hung  poised  there,  mortally 
gashed,  yet  fighting  still  for  her  dominion  of  the 
air.  She  quivered  from  prow  to  stern,  and  then, 
of  her  own  accord,  shot  upward.  Up  she  went  till 
she  was  but  a  dark  blot  in  the  sky.  Then  from 
above  something  came  falling  toward  the  earth, 
plunged  like  a  projectile,  and  disappeared. 

I  saw  a  tiny  figure  standing  on  the  doomed  air- 
plane alone,  and,  infinitely  small  though  it  appeared, 
I  knew  that  it  was  Sanson.  I  fancied  I  could  see 
the  man's  proud  bearing;  I  thought  his  arms  were 
folded  across  his  breast.  The  moonlight  gilded  him, 
and  others  have  told  me  that  he  seemed  to  ride 
through  the  air  resplendent,  as  if  transfigured  by 
some  demoniac  power. 

He  stood  like  Lucifer,  high  above  all  the  world, 
over  his  wrecked  dominion.     I  picture  his  disdain, 


The  Admiral  of  the  Air  311 

and  the  contempt  for  man  with  which  he  shrouded 
himself  in  that  last  moment.  The  world  had  broken 
him  in  the  end,  but  his  colossal  spirit  could  never 
be  quenched. 

Then  the  air  vessel  plunged  into  the  moon's  heart 
and  vanished. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  NEW  ORDER 

^T^  HREE  months  have  passed.  It  is  Easter  Day, 
and  we  have  only  begun  to  struggle  with  the 
difficulties  before  us. 

But  we  are  working  with  a  faith  that  will  over- 
come all  obstacles.  All  the  world  is  at  work,  for 
the  same  impulse  was  felt  simultaneously  in  every 
land.  The  Mormon  airplanes  never  arrived,  because, 
practically  at  the  same  hour,  America  rose  in  revolt 
against  her  masters.  And  the  Sanson  regime  has 
been  swept  away  forever. 

We  were  rescued  from  our  airplane  by  the  air- 
scouts  who  had  followed  us,  and  brought  back  to 
London.  Our  friends,  who  had  thought  us  dead, 
were  overjoyed  at  our  return.  It  was  a  wonderful 
reunion,  with  not  a  shadow  to  mar  it,  for  Paul  had 
passed  uninjured  through  the  fighting  and  was  there 
to  welcome  us.  And  gradually,  when  she  awoke, 
we  broke  the  news  of  everything  to  Esther. 

The  amazing  thing  about  it  was  that  she  was  much 
more  calm  in  learning  the  truth  than  we  were  in 
telling  it.  She  accepted  our  statements  almost  as 
commonplaces  of  history. 

I  call  to  mind  the  second  huge  public  gathering 

312 


The  New  Order  313 

on  the  day  after  the  Revolution,  when  the  dread  of 
massacre  had  proved  unfounded.  The  populace  had 
been  taught  to  believe  that  the  Russians  were  blood- 
thirsty savages,  instead  of  which  we  discovered 
child-like  enthusiasts.  It  was  a  shock  to  most  of 
us  to  discover  that  they  considered  themselves  Cru- 
saders, upon  a  mission  to  restore  Christ  to  the  world. 
I  recall  vividly  the  great  red  crosses  on  the  breasts 
of  their  white  uniforms,  the  icon  banners  that  are 
still  flapping  everywhere;  then  the  people's  wonder 
and  terror  at  the  horses ;  lastly  the  young  Tsar's  en- 
trance into  the  capital,  to  attend  the  reconsecration 
of  the  Temple,  and  the  amazing  influence  of  king- 
ship upon  a  crowd  that  had  never  known  reverence 
or  loyalty,  except  through  fear. 

Then  the  universal  joy  at  the  release  of  all  the 
inmates  of  the  defectives  and  moron  shops,  the  tears 
and  shouts  that  accompanied  the  restoration  to  their 
families,  of  those  who  had  been  believed  lost  for- 
ever; husbands  and  wives,  parents  and  children, 
brothers  and  sisters,  friends  and  friends.  No  one 
was  afraid  to  be  glad.  It  was  as  if  a  dark  cloud 
had  rolled  away  and  disclosed  the  sun. 

And  the  astonishment  and  enthusiasm  as  the 
people  listened  to  the  teachings  of  Christianity. 
After  three  months  there  are  still  crowds  at  all  the 
street  corners,  hearing  the  doctrines  and  the  story 
of  Christ  from  priests  and  missionaries. 


314         The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

And  Bishop  Alfred:  at  the  consecration,  when, 
stepping  forward  to  declare  himself,  he  found,  to 
his  surprise  and  dismay,  that  the  secret  of  his  sur- 
name, which  he  had  vowed  never  to  reveal  until 
that  day,  had  passed  forever  from  his  own  memory. 
And  how  proudly  he  redeemed  himself  with  his 
ancient  title,  Alfred  London. 

There  is  so  much  to  do,  and  only  a  tithe  of  it  has 
been  begun.  Indeed,  it  would  have  been  impossible, 
but  for  the  agreement  that  the  old  national  bound- 
aries should  be  restored,  and  each  State  work  out 
its  problems  independently.  Then  there  was  the 
question  as  to  the  composition  of  the  new  govern- 
ment, and  it  was  resolved  that  the  committee  should 
avail  themselves  to  the  utmost  of  the  established 
order,  eliminating  all  cruelties.  Thus,  for  the  pres- 
ent, because  no  better  scheme  can  come  forth,  ready- 
made,  from  human  brains,  the  socialized  State  will 
continue.  It  would  be  impossible  to  go  back  to  the 
old  days  of  competition,  and  we  shall  never  return 
to  those  days  of  squalor,  poverty,  and  destitution, 
recognizing  that,  if  ever  revolution  was  justified, 
our  fathers'  was  against  the  commercial  greed  of  a 
materialistic  world. 

The  hardest  part  of  this  problem  will  be  to  steer 
a  course  between  the  corruption  of  Social  Democracy 
and  the  tyranny  of  Social  Autocracy.  But  we  have 
an  ideal  in  the  separation  of  wealth  from  power. 


The  New  Order  315 

the  latter  to  be  the  attribute  of  the  few  who  are  born 
and  fit  to  rule,  the  former  the  possession  of  the 
bulk  of  the  nation.  Whatever  our  judges,  their 
office  will  be  for  life,  and  they  will  be  appointed  and 
not  elected. 

In  time  custom  will  crystallize  into  laws  again; 
but,  since  the  existing  laws  were  too  cruel  to  sur- 
vive, and  the  old  are  too  arbitrary  and  antiquated 
to  be  renewed,  we  choose  to  exist  law- free  rather 
than  live  by  paper  schemes. 

But  if  we  are  tolerant  and  lax,  so  that  we  resemble 
more  a  benevolent  anarchy  than  an  organized  State, 
we  have  set  our  faces  like  flint  against  two  things. 
First  of  these  comes  divorce.  It  will  be  recognized 
under  no  circumstances  whatever;  and  so  far  is  this 
from  being  considered  tyrannous  that  the  vast  bulk 
of  the  people  never  desired  it.  In  the  old  days  it 
was  the  shameful  privilege  of  a  small  caste  alone  — 
that  same  caste  that,  by  abandoning  its  duties  and 
responsibilities  and  cutting  free  from  the  Catholic 
conception  of  civilization,  brought  down  the  old 
order.  We  are  convinced  that  the  permanence  of 
the  marriage  bond  is  the  foundation  of  every  society 
of  free  people. 

The  second  is  eugenics.  Looking  back,  we  see 
how  this  madness  over-ran  the  world  until,  within  a 
century  from  the  time  of  its  inception,  it  had  enslaved 
humanity.    The  theory  of  Galton,  that  because  the 


316         The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

university-trained  son  of  a  distinguished  man  be- 
came distinguished,  while  the  illiterate  son  of  a  burg- 
lar died  unknown,  ability  is  inherited,  may  have 
appealed  powerfully  to  our  ancestors,  but  to  us  it 
is  symptomatic  of  that  inability  to  reason  which  we 
think  characterized  the  twentieth  century.  Eugenics 
was  the  natural  product  of  a  time  which,  steeped 
in  materialism,  laughed  at  the  belief  in  a  human  soul, 
or  its  concomitant,  that  each  soul  needed  to  work 
out  its  earthly  pilgrimage  in  a  body  adapted  to  its 
abilities.  But  even  from  the  material  viewpoint  we 
see  that  the  movement  was  fallacious.  We  know  that 
the  proportion  of  those  afflicted  with  inherited  mal- 
adaptations  has  remained  constant  through  history; 
moreover,  since  there  was  no  human  norm,  the  de- 
mands of  the  eugenists  increased  continually,  till  they 
had  bound  nine-tenths  of  the  world  to  their  hideous 
Juggernaut  car. 

So  the  first  act  after  our  victory  was  to  burn  the 
Bureaux  of  Prints  and  Indexes  and  Pedigrees  and 
Relationships.    That  was  our  only  vandalism. 

But  more  than  everything  we  hold  to  Christianity 
as  the  foundation  of  our  State.  We  see  now  that 
the  nineteenth  and  twentieth  centuries  were  the  worst 
since  pagan  times.  Our  ancestors  read,  without 
qualms,  of  negroes  burned  at  the  stake,  of  equatorial 
nations  massacred,  not  in  excess  of  misplaced  zeal, 
as  heretics,  but  only  for  —  rubber!    We  know  that 


The  New  Order  317 

without  Christian  ethics  human  nature  is  back  in 
the  days  of  Rome,  Bagdad,  and  Carthage.  We  hope 
that  there  will  be  established,  as  in  the  olden  days, 
Christian  orders  of  young  men,  who  shall  serve  three 
years  in  them  before  they  come  of  age,  bound  by 
the  triple  vow,  to  fight  these  renascent  wrongs  where- 
ever  they  can  be  found. 

Having  found  truth  once  more,  we  are  not  greatly 
troubled  by  doctrines.  The  critical  investigation 
which  destroyed  the  Protestant  theory  of  the  Bible's 
literal  inspiration  has  only  strengthened  the  older 
claim  of  the  universal  Church  to  be  herself  the  re- 
pository of  truth.  Not  rejecting  the  claims  of  criti- 
cism, we  feel  the  living  truth  of  Christianity  so  far 
to  transcend  its  theological  garb  that,  if  the  formula 
has  been  misstated,  many  would  revise  it.  The  con- 
sensus of  opinion  is,  however,  that  the  minds  which 
drew  up  the  Apostles'  and  Nicene  creeds  arrived  as 
nearly  as  possible  at  a  correct  formula. 

But  the  Visible  Church  is  humble  in  her  hour  of 
success.  She  feels  no  triumph.  Reverently,  peni- 
tently, at  the  huge  consecration  meeting  in  the 
Temple  her  leaders  asked  for  guidance  and  inspira- 
tion. At  present  sectarianism  inspires  in  us  the  same 
horror  that  schism  inspired  centuries  ago.  The  first 
act  was  to  reunite  the  ancient  Greek  and  English 
churches  by  omitting  from  the  Creed  that  clause 
beginning  "proceeding  from,"  which  had,  it  was  felt, 


318         The  Messiah  of  the  Cylinder 

no  significance  that  was  essential.  The  next  will  be 
to  negotiate  with  the  Vatican  for  union.  But  the 
stupendous  difficulties  of  this  reconciliation  are  ac- 
knowledged. 

The  Age  of  Faith  is  coming  back  to  the  world, 
and,  as  in  that  splendid  twelfth  century,  when  it  was 
in  its  zenith,  there  is  a  sense  of  youth  in  us.  We 
feel  that  we  are  upon  the  threshold  of  a  new  epoch, 
uniting  the  triumphs  of  every  preceding  age.  It  is 
an  age  of  joy,  and  will  be  vitalized  by  that  art  which, 
since  the  Reformation,  has  been  sundered  from 
human  life.  Its  first  achievement  will  be  the  mag- 
nificent cathedral  that  is  to  rise  upon  the  site  of  the 
old  Ant  Temple.  It  will  be  a  new  world  indeed. 
We  know  each  age  has  its  own  cruelties  and  wrongs : 
the  Inquisition  of  the  sixteenth  century;  religious 
massacres  in  the  seventeenth;  in  the  nineteenth  fac- 
tory slavery  and  the  prisons  with  their  silent  cells. 
We  do  not  hope  greatly  to  lessen  this  sum  of  suffer- 
ing. There  will  be  injustice  always,  new  wrongs 
will  arise,  new  evils  that  must  be  fought ;  but  we  be- 
lieve the  Christian  norm  will  always  remain  with 
us  as  a  corrective. 

Tomorrow  bands  of  axemen  are  to  leave  London 
to  settle  Kent  and  Surrey.  Paul  and  Elizabeth  are 
to  go,  and  later  Esther  and  I  intend  to  follow  them. 
David  will  join  us  when  he  can  be  spared  from  his 
work  in  the  government. 


The  New  Order  319 


It  is  Easter  Day,  and  in  the  consecrated  Temple 
I  hear  the  anthem  rise: 

"Christ  our  Passover  is  sacrificed  for  us;  there- 
fore let  us  keep  the  feast : 

"Not  with  the  old  leaven,  nor  with  the  leaven 
of  malice  and  wickedness:  but  with  the  unleavened 
bread  of  sincerity  and  truth. 

"Christ  being  raised  from  the  dead  dieth  no  more : 
death  hath  no  more  dominion  over  him." 

The  crowds  in  the  great  courts  are  kneeling.  I 
kneel  with  Esther  among  them.  We  know  that 
the  sacrifice  has  leavened  the  world  with  truth  that 
shall  never  pass  away. 


